Trusting a New Partner
by m klindt
Summary: There's a mole at headquarters and Napoleon must decide if it's his new partner of three months or not. Part of my Lexi series, but only at the ends and supportive characters.
1. Chapter 1

Trusting a New Partner

By

M. Klindt

Chapter One

Napoleon Solo walked into the New York UNCLE headquarters whistling softly. It had be an exhausting weekend spent with his THRUSH pet, Angelique. Little bits of information were exchanged on both sides, but with nothing of importance for the other to use.

"Good afternoon, Napoleon," the alluring receptionist purred as she pinned his badge to his chest, giving him a whiff of her intoxicating perfume.

"Yes…my darling Clementine." Napoleon smiled, looking down at the pretty Asian pinning on his badge. Maybe he should ask her out to dinner tonight?

"Mr. Waverly wants to see you right away." The receptionist said, reluctantly pulling back from the dapper Section Two agent to sit back down at her desk.

"He usually does." Napoleon murmured softly to himself after he nodded goodbye to the lovely lady and passed through the pneumatic doors. Illya must already be here, he thought, because the old man usually doesn't summon him without his newly assigned junior partner of almost three months first.

The doors to Waverly's inner sanctum whooshed opened to reveal a single occupant. The older man's head was bent down over the papers that littered the circular table. The salt and pepper hair was looking more salt than pepper these days. Striding over to his usual chair, Solo paused long enough to read his mentor's aura, which was impenetrable for the moment. Unbuttoning his jacket, the younger man sat down while clearing his throat.

"Mr. Solo," a slightly disinterested voice traveled throughout the room. "Do you know why Mr. Kuryakin would request two days off, starting this morning, after you finished your routine "interrogation" with Ms. Du Chein? He said it was to spend some time in a research study group at a local university for a project he's working on for Section Eight."

Napoleon leaned back in his seat in utter shock. It took Napoleon over two minutes to react to what Waverly was saying. Thoughts of what would make Illya do that ran wildly through his head. "I don't know, sir…"

"Your last mission with Mr. Kuryakin, what went on?" Waverly demanded even though he had the report right in front of him and had already read it.

Napoleon was furiously trying to put into words what he and Illya tried to forget. It was a successful mission in rescuing a kidnapped infant daughter of a foreign dignitary, but there were problems. The psycho, who was working alone, had led them on quite a chase and had left mutilated baby dolls legs and arms with the clues for them to find the next drop point for the ransom. Illya had found the baby just in time; half buried and the mad man's gun aimed to kill. The Russian hesitated for only a split second before he shot the man dead. He then ran to the whaling child, pulled her out of the dirt, and tried to calm her as best he could.

Napoleon watched the tears roll down his partner's face while rocking the child. He was mumbling something that Solo couldn't understand all the while. After the paramedics came, they practically had to dart him to get the child away from Illya. Once the child was taken from him, the UNCLE agent stoically stood up and walked away. Napoleon attempted to talk with the blond man, but the Russian wouldn't have any of it. Illya shot down any attempt Napoleon tried as an opening to discuss what had happened. Soon, both of them want back to their comfortable silence and everything about the affair was dropped. Reports were written with just the facts and emotions were hidden away.

"We'd found the baby just in time." Napoleon nervously swallowed, trying not to inadvertently betray his new partner. "Mr. Kuryakin held the little girl until reinforcements came. The medical staff took her to the treatment center and then to her parents."

"Yes, yes, I know what the report says, but what really went on?" Waverly waved off the simple and empty report of the mission with a flick of his wrist, but his eyes were piercing right through the younger man. "And you will find out what's going on with him or I will have to ask for assistance from one of our newly acquired psychologist, a Mr. Samuel from Brooklyn."

"Yes, sir," the agent nodded as he stood up from the conference table, closed his jacket, and left his boss to his own thoughts. The doors slapped shut behind Solo before he stopped and lean against them. "Oh, Illya, what are you up to?"

Thoughts ebbed and flowed through Napoleon on how he and Illya were randomly assigned together by the current CEA, Jefferies. It had been a gamble for Napoleon from the very beginning. He was given a new partner that rest of senior agents thought was scraping the bottom of the barrel of the junior Section Two pool. This newly appointed Russian agent that was recetnly assigned to America and to top it off, Kuryakin was also a science geek to boot.

First appearances were deadly wrong in this case of the shy, skinny, toe-head blond. He was deadly accurate with anything he aimed at a target, a pyromaniac, and a very efficient polyglot. And that just scratched the surface of who this complex science nut was.

What surprised Napoleon the most was Illya's keen sense of judgment and very dark, dry humor. If you didn't know the Ukrainian in Russian clothing, you'd think he was rude, stand-offish, and cold as his penetrating, crystal blue eyes.

So far, Illya and he got along and formed a respectable partnership that saw them through many missions without too much damage. Although, Napoleon did still seek advice from his fellow senior Section Two friends from time to time, he was beginning to trust his new partner more and more.

With renewed purpose and ideas on how he was to find his wayward partner, Napoleon pushed off the door frame to head down to his close friend, Harvold Shaw's office to ask him if he noticed anything wrong with the young Russian since they were on that last mission. Old Harv had sparred with Napoleon's partner recently to maintain field work requirements for Section Two. It had been an impressive wrestling match between the bigger American and the slender Russian.

Solo could tell that Shaw was hell bent on beating the younger man and wasn't below cheating to prove who was a senior agent and who wasn't. If Napoleon had read Illya right, he'd given up a few key moves to let Shaw win and accepted defeat after a couple of jabs that weren't exactly fair or legal.

Afterwards, in the locker room, Napoleon caught the site of quite a few red marks on Illya's body starting to turn purple, more than what Shaw had inflicted. When he started to ask Illya about them, the blond told him in no certain terms that it wasn't a big deal and dropped the subject. Napoleon thought it was, because he and Shaw were friends, Illya knew that, and didn't want to cause waves.

For his part, Harvold seemed to frequently ask Napoleon how his Russian partner was doing, but never in a mean or demeaning way; Shaw seemed more interested in how Illya was fairing more than anything else. Harvold had his own new Section Two Junior partner to take care of, a Joe Phelps. Harv and Joe seem to hit it off really well and quickly became the go to agents for Waverly when the CEA and his partner weren't available. But lately, he and Illya were assigned to more complex missions that required special skills that his new partner brought to the table.

MFU/MFU

Napoleon Solo sauntered into the Oasis Hotel and pressed the button to the elevator. His search for his partner started with the location he got from Illya's personal homing device he had told Napoleon he was working on. It led to a room on the third floor in this older, barely adequate establishment to spend the night by Napoleon's standards. This boring hotel was frequently used by visiting egg heads from different think tanks around the world to attend lectures and symposiums at many of the New York University departments. Napoleon knew that UNCLE has done surveillance duty on several occasions here and he was familiar with the hotel's basic layout.

The elevator doors slid open to the third floor to reveal a young, vivacious woman dressed in a nursing uniform waiting to get on. Her bright, white, form-fitting outfit left nothing to the imagination, but it was the makeup and white fishnet stocking that started Napoleon's heart racing. With the efficiency of his spy training, he started with her stiletto heels, up her lovely shaped legs, mini skirt with a slit on the side, reasonable sized breasts, beautiful face, auburn hair in a bun just under a starched-white nurse's cap and finally sparkling blue eyes.

Napoleon took a quick breath in as he forced himself forward out of the elevator and closer to this creature. She only smiled as she stood her ground and gazed up slightly at the dark-haired man in her path to the lift. It was then he noticed something in her lushes ruby red lips. The naughty nurse expertly rolled a candy sucker from one side of her mouth to the other.

At a temporary loss from words, Napoleon cleared his throat and demanded his libido to stand; not-so-firm as he gave the temptress one of his killer smiles, nodded his head, and stepped aside to give her passage to the elevator. Sadly, he had to remind himself that he was on a mission and shouldn't be distracted.

For the high paid hooker's part, she smirked, took a step closer, drew out a plastic wrapped sucker from a side pocket and seductively placed it into Napoleon's breast pocket. Her lingering touch was electric to Napoleon when she clicked her sucker against her teeth and then slurped softly as she continued to walk past him and into the elevator. She turned, pushed the down button and then leaned against the back wall with one hand holding a medical bag and the other twirling her sucker in her mouth.

"Thank you, Nurse." Napoleon bowed slightly as he patted his coat pocket with the sucker in it.

"You're welcome…Napoleon" The naughty nurse finally spoke as the door moved shut.

"What?" Startled by the prostitute using his name, Napoleon struggled to grab his pen communicator and "How did she know my name? Open Channel D, Phelps, I need back up!"

Joe Phelps had come along with Napoleon to help triangulate Illya's position. Harv had a meeting and thought that Solo could use some friendly help just in case. It was decide that Joe would wait in the car and Napoleon would go in first to see what was going on. So far, no one reported anything to the attendant at the desk when he checked with the man.

"Phelps here," the junior Section Two agent quickly responded. Napoleon could hear a car door close.

"A woman dressed as a nurse is in the first elevator past the desk. Stop her!" The CEA shout out to the young agent as he ran to the last room on the left at the end of the hall. "She knows my name and may have done something to Illya."

Solo stopped at door number 325 long enough to pocket his pen, pull out his gun, and the check the handle: It was unlocked. Napoleon pushed open the door, "Illya!"

The shouting of his name made Illya Kuryakin slowly turned his head up from the batch of papers resting on his lap. His chin had been tucked to his chest. Gone were his black suit coat and tie with his white shirt splayed open to show a sweaty sheer undershirt. The blond man hadn't moved anything else, but his head. His arms rested loosely at his sides, his gun within reach.

"Napoleon," Illya dully greeted his friend with glassy eyes. Napoleon could see his partner struggling to make sense to why he was there. "She…"

"I know," Napoleon hastily interrupted the junior agent. "Don't say any more for now."

Solo didn't want Illya to say anymore that might incriminate him later with Mr. Waverly. Napoleon still kept his gun raised as he checked the rest of the hotel room, but found nothing. Holstering his gun, Napoleon walked back to the couch to find Illya still quietly sitting, he had turned back to staring at the papers in his lap. Solo stood in front of the younger man, shoved the empty, over-turned vodka bottle and glasses away from the front part of the coffee table, and sat down while he looked over his drunken friend. Their relationship was new and rocking precariously on the edge of full trust.

"Napoleon," Illya said again with same confused and surprised expression he had when Solo had pushed through the door. "Yoooouu…here?"

"I know partner," Napoleon comforted the confused man as he looked into his diluted, stormy blue eyes. Gently placing his hands on each side of Illya's head, he tilted Illya's face slightly back and forth to get a better look. Illya's skin was cool and clammy with a sheen of perspiration starting to appear, but his lips were dry and his breath staggered. The scent of vodka permeated Solo's senses as the vapor of the alcohol circled around his partner. The belt around the Russian's waist was undone as well as his fly. "Illya, I need to get you ba-"

Before Napoleon could say more, the hotel door banged open with Joe Phelps rushing in with his gun drawn out in front of him. "Napoleon, Is it clear?"

"Yes," Solo calmly said as he gave the energetic young man the signal to stand down. Putting his gun away, Joe walked over to where the other agents were sitting and took a quick look around the room before finally setting his gaze on Agent Kuryakin.

"Man, is he drunk or what?" Joe whistled out in surprise. He would have never thought his fellow junior Section Two agent was this careless or wild. Kuryakin was always a bit standoffish and reserved, because of Harv and their partnership. "Look at this place. The bed's a wreck with makeup smeared all over the pillow…"

"Yes, I know," Napoleon rudely cut off the astonished man, trying to remind him of what he was supposed to be doing. "Did you stop the naughty nurse from the elevator?"

"Well, no." Phelps heavily sighed with an over-dramatic shrug. "I ran to the only elevators in the lobby and watched both doors come straight down from this floor. There were was no happy hooker or woman in either one on them. There was an elderly man with a dog, carrying a poop bag though."

Solo humped and dropped his hands to Illya's shoulders as he continued to securitize his dazed partner. "Well, let's go you back to HQ, partner of mine. I think we need to visit Medical and see what kinds of cocktails you've been mixing."

Napoleon lowered one of his hands to grab Kuryakin's gun, but was caught off guard at the speed Illya snatched his weapon out from underneath his hand to point it squarely at his partner's heart. After a few tense moments of looking down at Illya's gun being held with deadly accuracy at his chest despite the lack of any other expression from the young Russian.

"IK," Napoleon calmly lowered his other hand to signal Phelps not do anything rash after he drew out his gun and aimed it at Kuryakin. Then, he slowly turned up the palm of his hand. "I need to hold on to your special for now. I swear that I'll give it back, but right now, you are in no condition to do anything that requires a firearm."

"Napol…eon, I…I think that I am drunk." Illya stuttered out as he started to relinquish his gun to Solo with an uncoordinated turn of the barrel.

"No shit!" Joe heartily agreed until Illya twisted his gun back around to point it at Phelps. "Whoa there, Kuryakin! Don't do anything crazy."

"Joe," Napoleon said calmly more to Illya as he angrily eyed the other young agent. "That isn't helping. Illya, look at me, and concentrate. I need the gun and Mr. Waverly wants you to come in and report. Can you walk with me?"

The blond man garbled something out in a different language that Napoleon could barely understand, but when he got the gist of it, he quickly backed up.

"What did he say?" Phelps asked as he drew closer to the Russian's side.

"He said that he was going to throw up." Napoleon matter-of-factly said when Illya's head pitched forward and he began to retch. The CEA had to smile just a little when he watched his partner purposely aimed for Joe's shoes."

"Shit, Illya!" Phelps shouted, angry that he couldn't stop the man from puking all over his shoes.

"Better now, partner?"

"Da," grunted out while he wiped his bottom lip with the back of his hand.

"Good," Napoleon nodded and he took ahold of Illya's upper arm and roughly pulled his wobbly friend upon his feet. "Now let's get you out of here, to the car, and back to headquarters. Joe will take care of the bill and call clean up."

"Girl…friend," Illya slurred out as Napoleon ushered him out the door.

"You can tell me about her later when you're sober."

MFU/MFU

Illya Kuryakin walked into the main Medial detention cell from the bathroom wiping his face and mouth with a damp wash cloth as Solo walked in. Napoleon cringed at the site of his partner. Illya looked tired with black smudges under his eyes and pale skin that had a "green around the gills" hue to it. Then there was the nauseating smell that floated into the cell after the young agent just before the bathroom door banged shut.

Swallowing down the bile that was trying to rise up his own throat, Napoleon fished out his handkerchief out of his pocket to cover his mouth and nose from the vomit smell. He had seen Waverly and reported what had happened at the hotel while Illya got to go to a detention cell to dry out from his private party and to finish nursing one mother of a hangover. It was Solo's job to talk with his partner and get his testimony to what happened today.

"Napoleon," Illya soberly said as he tried to hide his misery. "Sorry about the smell, my stomach seems to want to revolt."

"Well," Napoleon gestured the wobbly man to sit down at the table with him. "You and your naughty girlfriend had quite a bit to drink. I counted at least two empty bottles of vodka turned over on the coffee table and don't get me started on the condition of the bed... the lady I met in the hallway...You're full of surprises, Illya. You've even impressed Phelps."

"Thank you, although I don't thinks it's takes too much to impress Joe." Illya said in a dull tone, but Napoleon could see his thoughts reeling. "I'm a bit hazy on the details in what you're talking about. I don't remember drinking, meeting a woman in the hallway, or having brought papers with me to the hotel."

"Of all that, you only remember having papers on your lap," Solo smirked. "Not the naughty nurse in fishnet stockings?"

"Napoleon," Illya pleaded. "Not while I'm already nauseous, please don't make me think about anything that has to do with Medical, especially being with a domineering and sadistic nurse."

"Have it your way, but I saw the bed." Napoleon shrugged, giving his partner vague clues to what was found in the hotel room. Both knew the room they sat in was being monitored.

"Aaaah," Illya softly sighed as he buries his face into his damp washcloth for a moment. "I assume that I'm here because of inconsistencies in what you found in the hotel room and my unique request for two days off."

"Yes, Mr. Waverly is concerned." Napoleon went into agent mode, "While you were escorted here to sleep off your stupor, the room was investigated, and the papers confiscated. Dr. Rathhaus took your blood when he checked you out."

"I do remember that," the blond man nodded. "And per protocol, he or one of his team members will draw blood again in a few minutes…eh, hold that thought..."

Solo gently shook his head in empathy as the slightly younger man jumped up and made a mad dash to back to the porcelain throne. The sound of dry heaves brought up the handkerchief back up to cover his nose.

After a few awkward moments, Illya emerged once again, but more physically drained. He ran his hands through his sweat soaked hair before he clutched his abdomen as it rumbled angrily. With nothing left to donate to the porcelain throne, Illya swallowed the threat of eruption down as he wearily sank down onto to cot at the side of the cell.

Before Napoleon could ask Illya more about what he remembered, there was a knock on the cell door. After a short pause, in walked a tall, sandy brown haired man carrying a med kit. Two sets of eyes watched the nervous man set his items out on the table and then turned to two agents.

"Hi, my name is George Thompson. I'm new here." the pleasant man extended his hand to Napoleon. "I'm here to take Mr. Kuryakin's blood. Whew, from the smell in here, you're really sick Dr. K. I could give you an antiemetic if you like."

"Dr. K?" Napoleon turned to his partner, who had one arm draped over his eyes and merely extended the other off the end on the cot for the blood test.

"Take what you will, George." Illya whispered as if talking normally would set off another mad trip to the bathroom. "And yes, George, I'll take anything to help me from throwing up my toenails. It's the only thing I have left."

"Sure thing," George nodded and then jumped at Napoleon's inquiring look after he didn't get an answer to his question to who this new employee was. "Oh, I was hired by Mr. Waverly right out of residency to work in Section Eight. I work on poisons and develop antidotes. Dr. Rathhaus is the man in charge of the whole section and I met Dr. K or I mean, Mr. Kuryakin, just two days ago working on a new universal antidote and its delivery system. It's quite fascinating and if THRUSH ever got its hands on it..."

"George," Illya groaned to curtail the young doctor's enthusiasm. "I'm dying over here. Napoleon doesn't care about scientific research unless there is a pair of female legs attached to it. Please, put me out of my misery."

"Right-to Dr. K." George remembered why he was here and started to stretch a rubber tourniquet around the slim agent's arm. "Golly, you sure are dehydrated."

"George!"

"I think that this is my cue to leave. I'll start gathering more information and come talk to you when you're feeling better, Illya." Napoleon stood up from the table and gathered his note pad. "How soon do you think that'll be, Dr. Thompson?"

"I'd say a couple of more hours; Dr. Rathhaus had given Dr. K here a reversal drug to help with the effects of the alcohol, but most of these side effects it will take time."

"Fine, I'll be back then." Napoleon patted his partner on the shoulder and quietly left the room as George moved in with a rather large needle with IV tubing attached. "Get better, friend."

MFU/MFU

The next time Napoleon saw his partner, he looked better, but unwell in another way. He had watched Illya in the two-way mirror before he met with him. The detained agent's hands trembled slightly as he nervously paced around the room and then sit down on the cot only to get up to travel around the room again. It could be from the medications to counter act the horrible hangover or something more sinister like guilt or fear of being caught as the mole.

"Hey Bert," Solo asked the man monitoring the room after he caught a glimpse of the man's name tag. "How long has he been acting like a caged animal?"

"About the last hour," the med tech noted from his pad and then looked up at Solo with a tad too much need for excitement. "I'd give him another hour or two at this rate for the mumbling to start and the tranquilizing dart to be brought out."

"Whoa there, Cowboy Bert," Napoleon squelched this eager beaver's need for excitement. "There'll be no need of that. Your job is just to observe. Any shooting, tranquilizing or anything else, will be done in the shooting range and not my partner's ass, okay?"

"Yes, sir." The deflated man sadly agreed with the CEA.

"Good man." The Section Two agent chuckled and roughly patted the man on his shoulder to remind him of his proper responsibilities and then shifted the packet of papers in his hands. "I'm going in. Watch my back, but don't go crazy, the ass you save could be your own or mine."

Bert laughs as the tension in his back loosens while he buzzes the CEA into the cell. "Sure thing and good luck, I have the dart gun ready just in case."

"Oh, Bert," Solo snorted and shook his head as he entered a more dangerous area, a small room with an altered Section Two agent that was his partner."

"Illya," Napoleon softly asked as he rounded the door and peered inside.

The younger agent stopped pacing for a long second and then continued on. A look of concern flitted across Napoleon's face, but disappeared as he threw his papers on the table as he sat down. He still needed to get Illya's side of this treasonous affair.

Kuryakin circled the detention cell one direction and then circled back in the other direction; all the while, wringing his trembling hands, only stopping to rub some perceived coldness from his arms. Illya ignored his partner and his offer to sit at the table with him for quite a while. If Napoleon would have to say one word that could describe Illya's action, the word "run" kept popping up and now that unspoken word was becoming so intoxicating in this quiet cell, that he thought the younger agent was losing his ability to properly reason over his strained emotions.

Napoleon eyed his partner discretely as he made his trek around the room. Illya was still had the white pallor of someone nursing a sour stomach and was now acting odd. Well, odder than usual for his Russian friend; less in control of his thoughts and actions then his normal professional persona.

Solo sighed, looked at his watch, and then sighed again. "This is getting nowhere. Illya, come sit down so we can talk."

The blond agent abruptly stopped when he heard his name being called. The voices in his head appeared to be lessening slightly when Illya had someone to fight them for his attention, but hesitated to move forward.

"Sit!" Napoleon hotly ordered and fiercely pointed to the chair next to his. "Sit down before I tie you to the chair."

"Da," Illya weakly said and awkwardly moved to sit on the edge of the seat, ready to jump at a moments noticed.

"Oh, don't tell me that you're still drunk after all these hours that you can only talk in Russian?" Napoleon grumbled, knowingly experience that something else maybe more going on than Illya being drunk. Even though Dr. Rathhaus said there wasn't anything in his system, something was definitely wrong.

"Don't be ridiculous Napoleon," Illya retorted back, closing he eyes as if he was trying to control their spinning to concentrate. "What's in the papers?"

"Hopefully, answers to questions that you need to help me with." Napoleon said and got down to business, still alert to his partner's continued uncontrollable trembling of his hands. "First, what did you do after you checked into work yesterday morning?"

"I went to my lab and checked my experiments I'm currently working on." Illya tried to settle himself down and focus on what he was doing before it all became a blur again. "Dr. Rathhaus called me over to his lab to ask me my opinion on a lab value and then asked if I had any down time after our last mission. I told him I might now that your tryst with that black widow was over."

"Now, we agreed that you were going to be civil and call Angelique by her proper name."

"No, you agreed for me and promised her that I would at least try to be pleasant to her face, which I have, when I'm trying not to let her poison you or try to physically harm you." Illya quipped, appearing to slightly come out of his stupor to banter with his partner.

"We'll discuss that later, what happened with Dr. Rathhaus? What did he want from you?" Napoleon asked as he hurriedly took notes, not telling Illya what the scientist had told him just yet.

"He told me of a symposium going on at New York University and that I should attend. He was going to go, but a family issue came up. He offered his seat to me and the use of his hotel room for free." The blond man shrugged his shoulders. "I read the pamphlet and found the hypothesis quite interesting and went to go ask Mr. Waverly for a couple of days off and he gave them to me."

"And once you got to the hotel?" Napoleon dug deeper. "Who was the girl? Quite a stunner she was in her nurse's getup. By the look of the room, you two had a very good time. "

"Girl," Illya' s mind whirled to who he was talking about, stalling long enough in his response to give Napoleon an impression that he had something go on, but wasn't able or willing to tell his partner about just yet.

"Yes, well more of a woman really, built, red hair, definitely a high level lady of the night." Napoleon licked his lips lightly as he envisioned the tart and drew a shapely outline of the woman in the air to help his partner remember. "Super tight nurse's outfit and what her mouth was doing to that sucker. It matched her ruby red lipstick. She even gave me one too."

Illya popped his head up from staring down at the table in confusion. Napoleon could sense that there was something conflicting within the blond man as he produced the hard candy lollipop in a specimen bag. Then Illya snorted as he shook his head and then ran his shaky hands through his wayward hair.

"I…don't remember a woman shaped like your usual conquests." Illya stammered, vainly trying to remember yesterday. A glint in his eye told Solo that there had been someone, but not the one he was talking about. At least his Russian cohort was capable of some humor.

"Well, the sheets said you were with someone." Napoleon countered. "The lab is checking on the sheets for samples and running tests."

"Which ones," the scientist in Kuryakin piped in.

"How in the hell do I know?" The CEA groused opening. "You know I don't get into that science mumbo jumbo; hair, semen, fluids. The usual stuff that seems to fascinates your over-sized head."

"I did have someone with me." Illya blurted out suddenly, looking his friend squarely in the eyes with complete seriousness that Napoleon knew to be the unmitigated truth. He'd been partnered with this freak of nature long enough to really know the younger man was being straight with him. "Someone I met up with after I registered at the college."

"Well, I can't blame you for having a scratch to itch, but to get that drunk," Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. It was frowned upon by the Command to get overly drunk, even on an agent's own time. They could be compromised at any given time.

"I honestly don't remember getting drunk enough to not remember drinking more than two shots of vodka with my "friend" and after she left…the rest is a blank until you showed up, seeing the papers in my lap, or to be this sick to my stomach."

"Could have your friend been a little birdy?" Napoleon hated to ask, but it was possible to be blind-sided by pretty girl. He's been fooled himself on different occasions.

"No." Illya said firmly as he continued his intense eye contact.

Napoleon blinked as he paused. So intense was Kuryakin's stare that he was stopped in his tracks. His response caught the older agent off guard and decided to tuck that reaction to his question away for another conversation that would be in private when Illya would be more willing to open up to him.

"Let's change the subject to something else. Like how did you get File Forty papers out of headquarters and sitting on your lap?" The CEA looked at this partner. "The paper had your handwriting all over it and the lab is running for prints."

"I don't know!" Illya stood up; knocking over the chair he was sitting on to pace to the other side of the detention cell.

"Whoa, Illya it's going to be alright." Napoleon slowly stood up and brought his empty hands up cautiously to show his partner that he was unarmed. "All I'm doing is asking questions to get to the bottom of this and get you out of here. I just need to know what happened yesterday…"

"I know you do, but I can't." Illya shot back. "Because, I can't remember, I wish I could tell you more. My friend left after a visit to the hotel room and that's all I know."

"What if I tell you that Dr. Rathhaus denies even talking to you yesterday morning and there wasn't a recorded conversation in his lab with you? That he didn't know about any symposium at New York University? No one, but your name was on the registration form for the conference and the hotel room. Harv Shaw talked with those working at the college and hotel and all of them remember you. A young blond foreigner and I've got copies of your signature on all the records."

Illya looked surprised at first from the information Napoleon was giving him and then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Can I see those papers?"

Napoleon reluctantly gave his friend the papers. He knew that they were evidence against the Russian, but after being partnered with him for the last six months he took a chance. Illya's unsteady hand was out-stretched with a reserved look in his eye.

After a few brief moments of examining the classified papers, Illya gave out a quick snort and shake of his head, only to be rewarded with a flash of dizziness.

Napoleon silently watched his partner's mind reel with interest. He could tell that something interesting was in those papers for Illya's scientific mind, but it seemed a little dull or distracted. He was torn between with thinking this was plot to frame the junior agent or that Illya was truly a mole. All the evidence was pointing to the latter, but there was something in Waverly manner in wanting him personally to find his wayward Section Two agent.

"What did Rathhaus say about these papers?" Illya asked out of the blue, breaking Napoleon's his train of thought.

"Aww… he said these were notations to an experiment that he was working on." Solo started as he took back the papers. "He said that these were locked in his file cabinet. He wasn't even aware that they were missing until I showed the file to him. He said the papers were top secret and if THRUSH got a hold of them, it would be detrimental to UNCLE."

"Oh, it is," Illya agreed with his cohort with a tight little laugh. "It's a formula for our new knock out drug for our mercy bullets. George is working on the antidote for it as we speak."

"Illya, I think that you know too much for your own good." Napoleon sighed, but before he could go on, a knock on the door of the cell stopped their conversation.

The panel slid open to reveal the same person that came in the last time Solo and Kuryakin were interrupted in their conversation, Dr. George Thompson.

"Hey Dr. K," George said with a bright smile on his face while lifting his med kit. "You know what I'm here for."

Illya rolled his eyes skyward and started to roll his right sleeve up. Napoleon could feel Illya was just starting to feel more in control of his thoughts. "George, when are we done with all of this bloodletting? I'm starting to run out."

"Sorry, I just have this one more sample from you. Rathhaus wants to run one more test. Then, hopefully no more little pricks to bother you."

Napoleon turned in surprised at the humorous remark from the tall, gangly, young man and then smiled before turning back to put the papers back into the file cover. He decided that he'd gotten all he was going to get from Illya for right now. Besides, he hated to have his own blood drawn let alone having to watch Illya get poked. What did George say? Hopefully it was the last little prick Illya was to deal with for a while?

With that thought, Napoleon chuckled to himself as he stood up with his back to the blood draw after hearing his partner's soft hiss when the hypodermic needle hit its mark. "I'll let you go Illya, to get freshen up and we'll talk again. I have to report to Waverly."

"Will I be expected to be there?" Illya asked quietly as he trudged up to Napoleon with a bent arm, putting pressure on the puncture site, and then kneading his arm with a sudden ache as quick pain tracked up his arm.

"Not right away," Solo said sadly as he strode to the door and knocked. George had gathered his supplies and met him there to be let out as well. "I'll let you know."

The door swept open to let out Napoleon and the young doctor while the one left behind hands started to shake again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"I don't care if he's a Section Two agent," Dr. Rathhaus bellowed at the stoic Waverly, who slowly puffed on his pipe, the ring of smoke around the older man getting bigger and bigger. "He's a mole! He stole those papers and was going to take them to the enemy. Now we have to scrape to formula. It'll take me months to develop another compound."

"Yes," Waverly said calmly. "I know it's a great loss of time for you, Dr. Rathhaus, but I think that your new man, Dr. Thompson, will be of great help even if his specialty is poisons…"

"I told you, Alexander, that I didn't need help in my lab." Rathhaus hotly huffed. "He's an irritant and I want him out. Barely follows my protocols, always asking questions, and trying to get me to change my practices. George is just a young pup who is so willing to ask for Mr. Kuryakin's help. He might be a mole as well…"

"Dr. Rathhaus," the Section One sternly warned as he straightened up in his chair. "Are you accusing Dr. Thompson of any wrong doing? Or are you just upset that someone violated your lab and was able to steal those papers right under your nose?"

"Well," the irate doctor huffed in accepting his boss's reaction to his blind anger. "He's just so trusting of Mr. Kuryakin."

"Yes, hind sight is always twenty, twenty." Waverly said softly and continued to eye the older man. "I have an investigation to run before I make my final determination about Mr. Kuryakin's guilt and how far it may have gone. What I need from you is not tainted emotions of being dooped, but of facts in this case."

The conversation was interrupted by the opening of the pneumatic doors and Mr. Solo walked in. Realizing that he had walked into a powder keg, Napoleon instantly straightens up even more. He thought he would have answers to the questions he was to get for Waverly, but he came back with more questions and just a feeling that something was not quite right.

"Good, Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly nodded to his CEA to sit down at the table. "Now that you're here, we can get through the facts we do have. Dr. Rathhaus and I were discussing some of the finer points of this incident. Care to repeat them to Mr. Solo, doctor?"

"No," the doctor scowled, but held his tongue. "The notes that were found in the hotel were of UNCLE's new formula for our mercy bullets. The bed has secretions that belong to Mr. Kuryakin and an unknown female partner of red hair by the samples we've attained from the sheets. The one of vodka glasses on the coffee table contained high doses of an amnesic and sedative causing Mr. Kuryakin to drink more than he remembered. His blood alcohol level was almost toxic and he is recovering from alcohol poisoning. Another day of observation and he can be released from Medical's care into a proper detention cell…"

"Careful, Dr. Rathhaus," Waverly softly warned the man again. "I want the facts only. Mr. Solo, what have you to report."

"Yes…sir." Napoleon swallowed, now the attention was on what he had found out. "Mr. Kuryakin checked in yesterday at eight in the morning. Through cameras, I tracked his movements within headquarters and was able to find his location at the hotel as requested by Mr. Waverly to find my partner.

"He was seen in his lab and then conversing with Dr. Thompson in your lab, but not with you, Dr. Rathhaus. Then Mr. Kuryakin went to his office to make a phone call before leaving shortly after that. He was seen talking with the guard at the scanner and the film with the date marker shows how the file forty papers were passed through and around the scanner for testing. But, there, did you see it. The file was left on the wrong side of the sensor and quickly pocketed with experience ease. One of Mr. Kuryakin's duties a week is to check security of the scanners. The phone call was to check our messaging service for our bogus trading company. "

"Could there have been many other times our security was breached?" Mr. Waverly asked. "Has any other information on the file forty paper gone missing?"

"Not to my knowledge, sir." Napoleon thought about what the implications were for Illya and him for being his partner. "CEA Jefferies is the one who assigns the duty roster."

"Yes, I've talked to him and assignments are rotated every three weeks. Mr. Kuryakin had been monitoring the scanners more frequently because of his scientific and mechanical background, "Waverly continued on. "Well gentlemen…"

Suddenly, alarms began to ring out within the command center.

With a flip of a switch, Waverly waited for the report from Miss McNabb. "Sir, Mr. Kuryakin has escaped from Medical's detention cell and has left the building. All tracers have been removed, including the one in his tooth."

"Trying to leave the scene of the crime, I told you he was a mole!" Rathhaus shouted in triumph in being proved right. "Probably going back to THRUSH and the Motherland…"

"Blasted," Waverly cursed. "Sit down Dr. Rathhaus. Turn those alarms off."

Waverly flipped another switched to get a view of the room Kuryakin was in and found it empty of the Russian agent, but Solo did see the med tech assigned to watch Illya trussed like a calf in a rodeo show. His buttocks were up in the air with a dart sticking out of it, drool escaping from the unconscious man's mouth and into a pooling puddle on the floor.

"Oh, Bert," Napoleon first grunted to himself and then glanced at Waverly who gave him a stern look back. "Illya what are you up to?"

MFU/MFU

"What do you mean he got away? We're to deliver that little shit commie to THRUSH HQ!"

"Just as I said, we watched him stagger out of the employee entrance and lost him in the lunchtime crowd. He hopped into a cab and was gone before we could cross the street."

"Damn it! He wasn't given enough to slow him down so you could overtake him. I should've told him to give Kuryakin more because of the scrawny bastard's ability to function under whatever drug cocktail gets injected into his veins."

"What do you want us to do now?"

"Find him you idiot! Once the drug has worn off, he's probably going to find his way back to UNCLE headquarters or back to his partner."

"What are you going to do while we look for the Rooskie?"

"I'm going to offer my help to the enemy and monitor the airways to see if Kuryakin shows up."

MFU/MFU

Illya Kuryakin was startled awake before he realized he wasn't nauseous, in pain, or in UNCLE's detention cell. He looked down and noticed that he was nude and not alone in bed. Next to him was the one he only got to spend a couple of hours with two days ago before she had to leave. The bed was warm, soft, and calming as the room glowed pink from the rising sun. They were in the back of a makeshift lab in a hidden loft apartment somewhere in Manhattan.

Smooth hands caressed his shoulder and arm before starting to roam to more stimulating areas for his body. Illya had to admit to his surprised that he felt quite refreshed after emptying all food from his gut yesterday. He felt well enough to do what he had to do today, but first things first.

Expertly wrapping his arms around the woman beside him, Illya twisted her up and over from one side of the bed to the other and then he pinned her down underneath him.

"My love," the bottle blond purred in Illya's ear in a hybrid language only they knew while she ran her fingers lovingly through his golden hair. "You seem much more…improved, since I gave you that antidote."

"Hmmm…" Illya hummed softly with half closed eyes. She was the only one he let touch his hair. Sure, others ruffled it to piss him off, but her touch was pure pleasure and caused other stirrings.

"Unfortunately, I cannot stay long this morning." Illya whispered as if it would take the sting out of his words between kisses down her throat. "I have a mission to finish and breakfast to eat."

"Any details you care to give me in why I spent several hours yesterday afternoon analyzing your blood to develop an antidote to an overly simple hypnotic and then having to wait until this morning before I can get my proper thank you from you?" The lady sighed out between breaths of pure ecstasy his touch was causing her. "Besides, I have things to do myself. I may not even have time for you this morning. What if I told you to get off of me?"

"Ha! Either one of us knows that isn't an option and I know that you can spare a few minutes of your precious time for me to do this…"

"A few minutes," she asked in a throaty laugh. "Is that all it takes you now a days?"

"You'll wish that when I'm done." Illya countered back and captured her lips. The fun was just beginning.

"Cossack..," she breathed out in a pleasurable moan.

MFU/MFU

Napoleon Solo sighed in pent up frustrations. The more he looked into the case of his partner's accusation of being a mole, the more he found. Files have gone missing since Illya came over from the London's headquarters and now they are starting an investigation on Kuryakin as well.

Napoleon spread his hands over all the little bits information that pointed directly to the blond Russian on the table. He was confused and angry at the same time. How could his new partner betray him? Lie to him about who he was, even though Solo really didn't know much about Illya's past other than what his file from Survival School and what the tight-lipped man was willing to tell him.

"Hey, Napoleon," Harvold Shaw walked up the younger senior Section Two agent's desk and sat down. "Have you heard from Kuryakin? Is he still off the radar today?"

"Does the word 'knock' ring a bell?" Solo asked, trying to shuffle the papers back into some kind of order. "You still haven't learned proper manners have you Harv? And, no, I haven't heard anything from him yet."

"Do you think you will?" Harvold asked. "I would think that he's on the way back to THRUSH or the Motherland. You know, he is quite the good little double spy…"

"Hey," Napoleon perked up at the insinuation against his partner. That's what Rathhaus had said too. "Mr. Waverly hasn't determined that he's guilty of anything yet. This could all be a smear campaign; because he's a Russian and a Communist. I've never heard him say or do anything to compromise the Command in anyway."

"Above suspicion from the great Napoleon Solo," Shaw mockingly asked to get a rise out of his friend. "Come on, Napoleon, think about it. Why would he show you his true nature? He was born and bred to be true red-blooded Soviet. He just thought he was smart enough to cover his tracks and until now, he even started putting you on his hit list for deceit and lies."

"What did Illya ever do to you, Harv?" Napoleon asked softly with an intense eye stare.

His coworker tossed him two pieces of paper. Napoleon took it, spun it around, and then looked at it. It was a request form for additional explosives and funds for a mission. That part wasn't the issue; it was that his name was on it, but Solo wasn't aware of signing off on it. Moments ticked by while Napoleon stared at the papers and Harvold waited for his to read the information.

"This is nothing personal, my friend." Shaw shrugged indifferently and tossed a thick file on to the table. "I have several other requests from Kuryakin that shows he used your name and several other senior agents. He's a mole and duped us all, especially the old man."

Napoleon sat back in his chair in deep thought. Was he so blind? Were they all fooled by this Russian? An uneasy feeling started to rise in his chest. It was that sickening feeling that he got when he thought he'd almost lost his life in an accident in the first month into his partnership with Illya. That may have not been not so much of the close call he was thought it was.

It was the knee jerk reaction Solo felt to having an enemy of the United States from the Korean War here at UNCLE. Some of agents and staff in the Command were hostile in hearing the Soviet Union was going to join UNCLE. This unrest competed with the trust that Napoleon had earned with friend.

"Friend," Napoleon silently asked himself before clearing his throat and then addressed his longtime colleague. "Harvold, what do you think of Kuryakin personally?"

"I think he's a wolf in sheep's clothing." Shaw said softly as he stared down at his fellow Section Two agent. "You never quite know what he's thinking, because he keeps his distance and he's too good at too many things: shooting, languages, sciences, and kissing up to the boss. It was almost as if he was bred for this job. And, I don't like that he's still part of the USSR military."

"You work with all sorts of people from other countries that have questionable pasts, why hate the Russians?"

"Oh, come on Napoleon," Harvold gave up any pretense of liking the Soviet Union. "He's from that Godless country. You know the one we fought in Korea? You don't see Koreans running around here at Headquarters do you? You can't serve two masters and be true to both of them."

"Waverly seems to trust the man," Napoleon interjected defensively. "He must see something in him to keep Kuryakin and the USSR within UNCLE's family."

"Keep your friends close, but enemies closer, eh Napoleon?" Harvold snickered. "Look, I don't pretend to know what the old man has in mind to have the Russians here, but despite what people think, Waverly's not perfect and I think he was duped along with the rest of us. Why else would he want you to find Kuryakin? Not everyone is happy with the commie as you are."

"Really," one of Solo's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Just how many people have a problem with Illya?"

Napoleon never realized how many people at the New York headquarters really harbored such predigests against the USSR with cold world raging outside their doors. He knows there were a few, but the mission statement of UNCLE forbids it to run rampant within its halls. Illya never would say if anyone was harassing him and Napoleon never asked. He knew that his partner could handle them and was slowly winning people over with his determination, politeness, and duty to UNCLE. Maybe it was all just a show?

"More than you know, but he's been playing the game of being the good spy." The other senior agent shrugged. "He's fooled us all for a very long time and I don't know about you, but I want to know why. Is he working for the Motherland or is he a spy from THRUSH, using his Russian history to throw everyone off the mark? Especially you, Napoleon, you just need to open your eyes."

"Yes, maybe my intuition is off." Napoleon stood up, not really ready to admit that he may be wrong about his wayward cohort. He thought Illya would've stayed at headquarters and proved his innocence. "I have a meeting with Mr. Waverly and Jefferies."

"Well then, you better go." Shaw waved his slightly swayed friend past him and out the door. "Let's hope this all gets taken care of soon. I'm going to help search for the man in question after lunch."

"See ya," Napoleon hastily retreated out of his office just to get away from topic at hand.

MFU/MFU

Napoleon Solo decided that today still had to be one of his most frustrating of late. Illya was missing and presumed a mole; his fellow senior Section Two agent, Harvold, was almost gloating about how he figured about his partner's guilt before Solo did, and Waverly was still waiting for him to find Kuryakin. So far, all Napoleon was able to accomplish was to find more damning evidence against the Russian and look like fool with blinders on. Now, he was walking into the old lion's inner sanctum without anything new to report.

"Ah, Mr. Solo," Waverly gestured the reluctant man into his office. "Did you know that your apartment has been broken into?"

"No," Napoleon stopped dead in his tracks in surprise. This had been one hell of a day and it wasn't even noon yet. "I wasn't aware of it. Jefferies?"

"Solo," the CEA cleared his throat while he waited for his senior agent to sit down. "There were two apartments broken into this morning actually, yours and Mr. Kuryakin's. The door codes were that of Mr. Kuryakin's old ones. Section Three had changed the codes once Mr. Kuryakin had taken off yesterday and they detected a breach about eight forty-five. "

"Was anything taken?" Napoleon asked, wondering what Illya would want from his place after being there several times before.

"From Mr. Kuryakin's apartment, it's hard to tell." Jefferies shrugs his wide shoulders. "It's difficult to get prints when the guy lives there, but your place was different. It wasn't so much what was taken, but what was placed there. A single silver bullet with a ring around it was left on the table for an UNCLE's special. Do you know what it means?"

Solo looked from Sid Jeffries to Mr. Waverly. Wondering what his partner was up to. "I don't know, sir. For the few months I've known Mr. Kuryakin, he's never given me a bullet, firearms, or gave me any cryptic messages. He did threaten to blow me up for fraternization with a female THRUSH agent once. "

Mr. Waverly's barrel chest slightly rose with a small chuckle to the Russian's perversion with explosives and the American's libido. Napoleon knew the old man was proud of the young Soviet's antics with Solo and that they had gotten along so well, so far.

"Well, so far, we can assume that Mr. Kuryakin is staying around New York and UNCLE for a reason." Waverly said thoughtfully as he tapped tobacco into his pipe. "Is he declaring himself as a mole and trying to get THRUSH's attention or is he trying to clear himself of the charges?"

"It's hard to say, sir" Jefferies interjected. "Mr. Solo, what do you have to report?"

"I've looked into all records that had Mr. Kuryakin's security codes on it and found several discrepancies and others that involved several of the senior Section Two agents. Mostly under my name and Mr. Jefferies, nothing that jumps out at you alone, but it you put all the collected pieces together from more than three months here in New York, it shows quite a bit weaponry and funds taken. Enough to supply an assassin's nest here in the city."

"Mr. Jefferies could that much supplies and funds be taken from headquarters and go unnoticed?" Waverly raised his eyebrows to his CEA in a challenge.

"Yes, sir," Jefferies said in steady voice without so much of a quiver as he held the old man's blazing glare.

Napoleon was amazed at Jefferies fortitude in addressing the Section One leader of New York headquarters. It was a trait that he would have to learn and use if he wanted to advance here at UNCLE.

"It would be easy to list the weapons as missing after a mission, loss of supplies, or request for more monies to pay off sources than needed, especially if you hop from one headquarters to another. Mr. Kuryakin did do an internship at the London office just after Survival School and they are checking into their accounting of supplies during his time there. I just think it would be too obvious to have Kuryakin as the mole. "

"Yes," Waverly quickly interrupted the man as he lit his pipe, took a few puffs, and continued. "But, sometimes, the most obvious is just a smokescreen or we're the fools not to see the real thing. I have yet to determine what is going on. Mr. Solo and Mr. Jefferies, find our junior agent before THRUSH does or I have to tell the Soviet Union that their representative has gone missing, thus suspending their spot in UNCLE. It would be a death sentence for Mr. Kuryakin if he's found guilty by us and the USSR."

"Yes, sir," Both men said in unison while they got up from the chairs and made their way out of the office.

When the doors closed behind them, Jefferies placed his strong hand upon Napoleon's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "Nappy, find that little squirt before something else happens, will ya? He's too good to lose the THRUSH. He could probably wipe us all out if he really wanted to. That's why Waverly wants the Russian here at his side. I'd hate to have to kill him, it would be such a shame…:

Napoleon nodded as Jefferies walked away with a rough pat on Solo's shoulder, nearly knocking him over. The CEA knew how to get to Napoleon by calling him Nappy and being so confident that his orders will be followed. Twirling the bullet after pocketing the ring that Illya had left the in his apartment, Solo wondered why it was left for him.

"Bullet…bullet…" Napoleon mumbled to himself as he made his way to the elevator. "Bullet…Silver Bullet Train Café…that's it!"

Solo excitedly punched the down button in the lift that led to the floor where his office was on. A quick stop at his office to grab his coat and then he would be on his way, but before the elevator doors closed, Dr. George Thompson jumped in.

"Napoleon," the young, awkward man stood in front of the Section Two agent. Thompson towered a good half a foot over him. "Glad I caught you. I need to talk with someone. Rathhaus told me not to bother you, but I have questions."

"What questions do you have, George?" Napoleon had to calm his own excitement to actually listen to this nervous, lanky man.

"All right," George swallowed hard and hopped from one foot to the other. "Did Mr. K have more than one woman with him in the hotel?"

"I don't know and Illya doesn't remember, why?"

"Well, because I found few dyed blond hairs in the bed along with real blond hairs, but they seemed to have been cut." George's eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. "Rathhaus said they were Mr. K's. Is he a true blond?"

Napoleon snorted at the thought that Illya couldn't be anything other than a true blond, but he had to admit he really didn't know. Maybe the surly Russian did dye his hair lighter than the original color.

"I really don't know." Napoleon exhaled slowly, trying to still his own whirling thoughts.

"Okay, is Mr. K allergic to any other medications than Penicillin?" George jumped to his next question with barely a breath in between.

"That's the only one I really know of is Penicillin." Napoleon shrugged. "I know that THRUSH's drugs give him more of a headache than me…"

"Hmm…because when I took his blood, he had irritation around the injection sites and I found this weird compound in his system that was almost covered by the alcohol in his blood, almost as if it was aerosol…"

"Aerosol," Napoleon asked at he brought his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose in renewed frustration. Where was Illya when he needed him to translate scientific stuff like this?

"Oh, breathed through his lungs." George blinked, remembering who he was talking to. "Still, it has properties similar to the sedative effects of drinking too much, in fact, together; it potentiates them to the point of being toxic…"

"Like alcohol poisoning…" Napoleon finished the doctor's thought.

"Yes but, that wouldn't have caused the skin marks after he came back to headquarters." George jumped back to his fragmented train of thought. "I didn't do anything, but take his blood, honest! The only thing I can think of for his injection sites to be red is the alcohol wipe I used…"

"Or something was on the outside of the needle?" Napoleon thought to himself as he watched the doctor run his hands through his hair. "It could be, George. I know you wouldn't do anything bad to Illya. You're his friend. Anything else I need to know about? I really have to be going?"

George tipped his bent head up and shook his head at the Section Two Agent. "Thanks for listening to me. Maybe, I'm over reacting…I just feel something's not right about all of this. Mr. K doesn't seem like a traitor to me…I thought I could tell..."

"No, George, you're not wrong in telling me what you did." Napoleon patted the taller man's arm as the elevator doors opened up. "The jury is still out on Illya. I'm having trouble believing that he could be a mole as well, but let's keep this all under wraps until I can find my partner. If he is, he's fooled us all."

"Find out if we're right or the rest of UNCLE is, would you, Napoleon?" George nodded and let Solo leave the elevator doors as he pushed the button for the next floor and back to the labs.

"You bet I will, pal."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Illya Kuryakin sat on a sparkly, red booth in the Bullet Train Café. It was the place that Napoleon had taken him just last month to give the Russian a taste of traditional American food. The whole diner fit inside a shape of a stylized bullet train of the nineteen fifties with silver chrome, neon lights, and waitresses in iconic costumes of a carhop. It took quite a while for Napoleon to explain the nostalgic meaning a place like this had. This place was blindingly bright and gaudy for the foreigner, but the food kept him coming back for more.

Illya had been busy already this morning. After finishing his need for "special" exercise in the morning with his friend, a shower, and a full breakfast before leaving her, he'd went to his apartment. It was the first place he needed to go to complete his mission. There, were his copy of the papers he'd had seen in Napoleon's hands while he was in the detention cell.

Sipping his bitter coffee, Illya was caught off guard on how quickly and complete the deception had been pulled off. He was just starting to look into viable lead that could blow the case wide open when things went spiraling even more out of control and he was found out. He was hoping to be able to talk with Waverly before he was discovered so his actions would've continued with the old man's support.

After taking the last bite of his of his apple pie, Illya's eyes drifted to the door from his advantage point in the back corner. He was waiting for Napoleon to show up since noon. Kuryakin hoped rather than knew if his partner would get the hint. He had to tell someone what was truly going on; why he suddenly escaped like he did.

An arm came up and a cool, smooth hand started to caress his shoulder. Not like the one this morning, but stiff and with a dangerous intent. In his periphery, Illya caught a glimpse of a vivacious woman with red hair and a tight dress. The last little stroke of her finger nails produced a sharp little flash of pain and heat radiating throughout this shoulder.

"Mr. Kuryakin," the woman purred as she sat down across from him in the slick booth. "You are a very naughty little boy. I heard that you don't remember anything of our get together the other night. Such a shame..."

"Yes," Kuryakin drawled out slowly as the drug was dropping some of his resistance. "Napoleon's description of you fits to a tee, sorry, not my taste in what I'm looking for."

"Yes, so I've heard." The woman curled her lips seductively. "You have been in lust for your partner since you come over the pond from London. There, it was another bloke, I heard, had caught your fancy."

Illya chuckled to the thought this woman really didn't know him or what was going on. "How long have you been working for THRUSH? The Soviet Union knows better to take that tack. Do you want what I have to trade or do you still want to play that I'm just a patsy in all of this?"

The lady was shocked by this last open ended question. She scrutinized the blond man awhile as he continued to fight against the effects of the drug she had given him. It was a drug used by UNCLE and Illya knew it as funny smile crept upon his face. His glassy eyes were patiently waiting for her to respond to his question.

"I didn't know you were in on this." The sultry redhead stuttered. "No one told me anything about this the other day in the hotel room, when we were setting you up."

"Well, they wanted to keep it as real as possible." Illya said and then giggled. "I really do prefer UNCLE drugs to THRUSH, don't you? Once I can think clearer, I will take you to the papers I took from Headquarters before I escaped out of the detention cell…wait, I was wrong; I think I need to throw up!"

Kuryakin leapt up in a hurry and ran to the restroom, leaving the woman watching the blond man dash past her with his hand covering his mouth. A man from another booth got up and walked up the lady. "He's lying and trying to escape. We need to get to that door. I know for a fact there's no way out of the toilet. He's trying to leave by the front door. Come on and get up!"

Illya chuckled to himself as he rushed to the bathroom with his hand still covering his face and then took a quick turn to the left to the door leading out the building. Even in his weakened state, his instinct was to flee from trouble. So, turning the corner was an instant choice for the UNCLE agent. He wanted to keep the chase up a while longer to give Napoleon a chance, but the young man's flight was short lived.

MFU/MFU

Napoleon Solo jogged up the stairs from the subway terminal two at a time. He usually drove around New York, but it was quicker to take the train than get through the lunch time traffic. At street level, he looked over to the Silver Bullet Café to see if his partner was in there, but come to a dead stop several yards away. Solo watched as Kuryakin threw back his wobbly head back to laugh and then tried to catch his balance from the action.

Next to Kuryakin was an unknown man to Solo, but the look of him had a THRUSH feel to him. His arm was raised to his hip, but his forearm and hand were covered with his trench to coat that hid a gun and it was pointed at the loopy Russian. What shocked the UNCLE agent more was the mere shrug Illya gave the man and gestured him to lead the way.

Napoleon tried to quicken his pace through the people in the way to offer his help or at least to get his partner back the UNCLE headquarters before he gets into further trouble. As he pushed passed the pressing crowd, Solo knew that he wouldn't get to the restaurant in time to stop what was going on, but he could keep his distance and see where they might be going and report in.

Illya and the THRUSH agent were joined by the buxom redhead from the hotel elevator and another man that was familiar, but Napoleon couldn't place from where. They all moved to a parked car on the side of the street. Kuryakin was led to the back seat. Before he got in, the junior agent lifted his head and scanned the street as if he was taking a big breath in of the early afternoon air, almost sensing that Napoleon was there.

For one brief moment, Illya turned to look right at Solo, seemingly without recognition. Napoleon could see the odd look on his face and sly smile, drugged Napoleon assumed. What was not expected was the weird way he turns his left hand. It looked like he was making the shapes of the number three, two, three, three, and then five.

As the car pushed forward through the traffic, Napoleon stopped and scanned the area for a cab and found one and flagged it down to follow.

MFU/MFU

The relatively new Senior Section Two Agent silently watched out of the parked cab at the garage door to the warehouse where the THRUSH car had gone through with his partner in it. Napoleon knew that this place wasn't where THRUSH Central was housed and wondered what was going on inside. He knew he should call this into Waverly, but wanted to see what was all going on first.

Solo got out of the cab and paid the driver before he rounded the corner. Finding a side door in a darken alley way, he slipped in. Most of the rooms around that entrance were filed with shipping boxes ready to send to different THRUSH satrapies around the world. Opening one of them revealed THRUSH weaponry supplies; the usual stuff one finds in UNCLE's enemies warehouse. Then, Napoleon came across a locked door in the center of the building.

Using explosive cream, Solo destroys the locking mechanism quickly and quietly swings the door open. The darken room contained boxes that were very familiar to the agent. These containers had UNCLE labeled on them and request slips on them bearing Illya Kuryakin's handwriting on them. His name, signature and those of many other members of the New York headquarters, even Waverly's John Henry was present on several them.

As Napoleon made his way into another hallway on the far side of this cache of weapons, ammunition, drugs, and a safe full of what he imagine was money, he could just make out people talking in a far room to the right. He noiselessly walked down the hall, keeping his eyes scanning each doorway with his gun drawn in the dim light of the inner part of the warehouse.

The last room on the right before the intersection at the end of the nearly black hallway, held the most interest for the agent. A bright light poured out of it and the party of people that was in the THRUSH car from the Silver Bullet Café were in there, along with the one escaped UNCLE agent.

There sat Illya Kuryakin, sipping coffee; not handcuffed, not tortured, but with shiny eyes as if trying to sober up.

"So Commie," the familiar man growled, growing impatient with the slim man. "What have you to tell us? Why shouldn't we just tie you up and take you to Central right now? I know that you weren't the one who retrieved all of our ill-gotten gains from UNCLE. All of our merchandize had to go through me first. You only showed up here the last three months. This thievery from headquarters has been going on for more than six months."

"Yes, Mr. Meyer," Illya cleared his throat and calmly put both hands flat on the table. "I know it didn't start with me, but when I found out that my name what being used to gather these 'stolen treasures' as you call them, I let it happened. You and your friends were sloppy. If you'd really look at the paperwork, you can see there are at least two requests for a thousand dollars to pay off an informant when I wasn't in town. Neither was Solo, who you have signed one of the form, very sloppy indeed."

"Then why didn't you tell Waverly?" The redhead turned to the blond man. "It would have been a big coup for you. That would have advanced your station within UNCLE."

"It would have if I wasn't being called out by the rest of you as a traitor," Illya contended with a suffering, dramatic sigh. "I was hoping that I would get an introduction and offer my services to THRUSH personally, but now my name is mud with UNCLE and the Soviet Union. I could've offered so much more; my expertise and knowledge in how UNCLE functions scientifically, the research projects I've worked on, etc…"

The lady and the two men in the room looked at each other, confused and deep in thought. It would be quite an accomplishment if they could turn the Russian into a double spy. It would have embarrassed UNCLE and escalate conflict with the Reds in the ever growing cold war outside their doors.

"I don't believe you." The man next to Meyer said in a soft, stiff voice. "What I've heard of you, you wouldn't betray Mr. Waverly or that lover of yours."

Napoleon shifted from one side of the dark doorway to the other to see Illya's reaction. His eye being razor sharp as a small, tight grin tugged at his lips. "It's you three who'll have to decide what will happen to me. I am a chameleon and can go anywhere my talents take me, but be warned, you'd rather have me as an ally and not an enemy."

A small chill ran up Solo's spine with Illya's comment, no, threat. What vague innocence he thought about his young partner might have been lost. Here was a wolf in sheep's clothing as Harvold said. It caused the dark-hair agent to question everything he knew about his new friend. Napoleon could easily understand why THRUSH was taking interest in the young Russian so new to New York. He could be a force to be reckoned with and UNCLE better hold on to him or get rid of the traitor quickly.

Taking a deep breath in, Napoleon rushed into the light with this gun arm raised. "All right! Everybody freeze! Hands up to the sky!"

Everyone in the brightly lit room stopped to look at the man yielding a gun. Stunned, the three men and lady slowly raised their hands; each one silently wishing at least one of them could have gotten their gun. "I said up!"

"Napoleon, darling," the gorgeous woman simpered to get the UNCLE agents attention while she inflated her ample chest to meet her elbows. "Don't do anything that you'll regret. We haven't had a chance to be properly introduced…"

"Don't worry," Solo curtly interrupted, "We'll have more than enough time to talk in the detention cell sweetheart. Meyers, now I remember you. You're the mousy Section Three agent in charge of weapons locker."

"Napoleon…" Illya started to say in a calm disappointed tone with a slight shake of his head.

"And you, I don't know what to do with you yet, but I will." Solo promised his partner as he shot all the three conspirators at point blank range.

In a flash, Illya was up from seat and went to check the fallen Meyers and retrieved his gun.

"Was that truly necessary?" Kuryakin hotly asked his partner with a wave of pilfered gun toward Solo. "I was…"

"Don't point that gun at me!" Napoleon shouted over the angry blond, taking Illya's actions seriously. "I don't know if I can trust you…"

Pythe! Pythe!

Two silent shots rang out, each man looking at the other in shock with guns pointed at each other. Instantly, both hit the floor unconscious.

"Well, this is a fine mess," the man that was in the darken room Napoleon had exited from earlier and walked out of with a smoking gun with a silencer on. "I was hoping to have fun with the Russian scum before having to take him as a prize to THRUSH along with their entry fee."

"Entry fee," the other man asked, emerging from the darkness as well.

"Yes, half of all the boxes in the other room from UNCLE itself," The first man said as he pocketed his special with mercy bullets and bent down to search Solo's pockets, grabbed his pen communicator, making sure it was turned off. "And the other half was a Section Two agent."

"Why Kuryakin and not Solo?"

"Because," the first man grimaced as if he was talking to a child. "I hate Russians with a passion and I know you do as well for what they did to our families and the Fatherland. Kuryakin was rising in the ranks at UNCLE too quickly for his own good. I know that he spies for the GRU!"

"Yes, my sister was raped and killed when those pigs invaded Berlin while I was treating our soldiers on the front."

"And when they divided the city..," the first man finished his sentence with a swift kick to the lifeless blonde's mid-section hard enough to hear a sickening snap of ribs braking and to roll the Russian over on his back. "I was sent away to family here, never to see my parents again or their fortune."

"So…what are we going to do about Solo? All that work to get him to believe that his partner is a traitor is gone."

"Oh, I'm not done just yet." The first man chuckled evilly as he placed his hands on his hips. "I've plans for my commie loving friend here while still keeping my job at UNCLE, and so will you my friend for a little while longer at least. We'll show THRUSH just how much we can take a chunk out of old Waverly's hide and he won't even miss it until it's gone."

"I trusted you this far my friend and you've proven." Number two said and raised his straighten arm in salute. "To the glory of THRUSH, the new world power."

"Heil, now let's get the dynamic duo in position for the next phase of my plan. We'll put Solo on the couch in the identical building next to this one, lock this one down, and take Kuryakin my safe house. I will turn on Solo's homing signal after that and the place next door will be crawling with UNCLE agents in no time at all. When we wake up the ones Solo shot, they can start getting all of our stock pile intended for THRUSH loaded up in the truck before things heat up."

"Right," the other man grunted as he picked up the Russian. "Man, this bastard is heavier than he looks!"

MFU/MFU

"Mr. Solo," a voice called to Napoleon with a beam of light flashing in his eyes and face. "It's time to wake up."

"What the…" Napoleon groaned as his blurry vision started to clear. "Where am I?"

"You don't remember?" The voice said with a touch of concern. "Did you hit your head?"

"No, Dr. Allen," Solo finally recognized the voice coming from the blur standing over him. Napoleon let his altered senses tell him that he was laying on a very lumpy, smelly couch. The room was familiar, but different somehow. "I'm starting to remember. I was trying to bring my partner in when he shot me with a mercy bullet…"

"A mercy bullet? So it's one of ours. Good, that means it should clear your system shortly." The bulldog of a doctor said with relief for a brief moment and then became serious. "Wait, Illya darted you?"

"Yes," Napoleon groaned out in sadness; finally admitting that his partner was the mole. "He had Meyer's gun and pointed it right at me after I darted the other three people he was meeting with; trying to sell his talents to THRUSH. How long did it take to find this location? I don't remember turning on my communicator..."

"Not long, my friend," another voice came from another part of the room, it was Harvold Shaw's. "Your tracing device alerted headquarters that you were here. By the time I got here, you were on the floor and no one else alive to be found."

"And the UNCLE supplies, weaponry, and funds in the other room," Solo asked, not very happy that Waverly had sent Shaw to come to his rescue.

"Nothing's in here, Napoleon." Phelps, Harvold's young partner came into the room. "I checked every room in this warehouse. Boy, Kuryakin is one sneaky rat to shot you. Meyer's wasn't so lucky. He's lying dead on the floor in the other room."

"What, Meyer's dead," The confused Senior Section Two agent asked the junior one in a surprised voice. "I only darted him. He's working as a double agent with THRUSH. I need someone to take me to Waverly right now."

"Whoa, Napoleon," Shaw stopped Solo forward movement by placing his hand firmly on his should. "Are you telling us that Meyers was an agent for THRUSH and Kuryakin was meeting with them to join their merry group of thieves?"

"It appears that way, Harvold." Napoleon said slowly to try to control his burning anger, grinding his teeth shut. _"What the hell was Illya up too?"_

Dr. Allen took this opportunity to close his medical bag loudly enough for the agents to look at the man. "I'll take you back, Mr. Solo. I'm headed that way and I think that you need some more time to clear your head."

"Yes," Napoleon agreed with the brutish man; not wanting to be in either Shaw or Phelps's company right now. It was bad enough to admit he might have been wrong about Illya's loyalty to UNCLE, but to listen to those two gloat was another and he wasn't going to give them the opportunity. "I'll see you gentlemen back at headquarters, doctor's orders."

MFU/MFU

At first, it was the cold seeping up from the floor that made Illya start to twitch and then it was the stiff muscles from immobility. Before becoming fully aware, a flash of pain ripped through his side and ran around to his back. A groan touched Illya's lips as he realized that he was face down on a cement floor, hands handcuffed behind his aching torso, and dried blood crusting around his nose.

"Well, old friend," the demure Russian greeted the floor, his familiar and unfortunate associate. "I hate to be just lying around here, but I seem to a little under the weather yet again."

Slowly turning over to his good side, Illya tried to take a deep breath that only resulted in a wet, gurgling coughing fit. Testing the handcuffs and found just enough length, Kuryakin took in a quick shallow intake of air while preparing for a great deal amount of pain before folding into a ball and rolling to his back.

With a long practice skill of a gymnast, the slight blond bent his arms upward enough to slide the cuffs over his hips to behind of his knees before completing the turn to his bad side. With gritted teeth, Illya stifled a cry out as his arm became trapped under his cracked ribs. Quickly, to ease the pain, he pushed himself off the floor with his elbow.

Carefully, Kuryakin set one foot through the space between the handcuffs and out the bottom. The pain from the metal bands digging into his wrists was screaming out louder than his injured side, but it was something that couldn't be help, Illya rationalized. He couldn't count the number of times he's ripped the tender skin just above his hands, but that didn't mean the scars were less painful or they didn't bleed less.

Just as the wayward UNCLE agent pulled his other trapped foot out from the cuffs, clapping from a single person could be heard from behind. Still looking down at the handcuffs to examine them in his lap, Illya started to laugh quietly to no one in particular. He must have been really been out of it to not realize that he wasn't alone.

"I've got to hand it to you Kuryakin, you have to be one little scrawny bastard to do that trick." The man commended the Russian. "I've often wondered how you made weight to be in Section Two. I told Phelps that I thought you were a woman trying to prove a point. Is that why Solo's so protective of your sweet little ass?"

"I have no trouble making weight." Illya simply commented with his bent back still to his captor, his suspicions were finally revealed. "Why, Harvold, what did I or UNCLE do to make you want to test the waters and join TRHUSH? How many times have you told me about their retirement plan?"

"Ha! And you listened to me?" Shaw chuckled with a menacing grin, reaching around with his hand to grab a chair, but never taking his eyes off the Russian. "Things are going to change once I run THRUSH."

"You run THRUSH?" Illya repeated in mock surprise as he rotated on his butt, one arm wrapped around his chest to protect his fractured ribs and his other hand placing the empty handcuffs on the barrel of the gun pointed at his head. This wasn't the first time the junior agent thought the senior agent was derange and egotistical.

"Yes, I've been playing both sides for some time." Another snort emanated from the older man as he spun the handcuffs around on his weapon before he let them slip off the muzzle onto the floor. "Nice trick. You caught on quickly where the others didn't. I was hoping to play this scam a little longer and now with you here, so I can stretch it out just a little longer to cause problems for your Commie-loving boyfriend."

"I assume you are talking about my partner?" Kuryakin slightly rolled his eye upward to the same innuendoes running around Section Two since he was assigned to work with one Napoleon Solo.

"Yes, when I was given one more test by THRUSH Central to betray UNCLE by making a Section Two agent into a mole, I naturally choose the resident Russian shit to slander and take to Central to be their stool pigeon, but..."

"Huh, lucky me, but..." Illya drawly said.

"I just didn't know that the old man was watching you so closely." Shaw shook his head in confusion. "I mean, I knew that he's handpicked you and everything, but I didn't know that he didn't trust you. I had to break down many of his encryptions to get access to your security codes."

"Of course you did," Kuryakin smiled impishly. "I put them there."

"What is between you two?" Shaw simply asked for clarification.

"That is classified information." Illya leveled a look at the other agent that sent a chill down his spine. "If I tell you, I will have to kill you as an enemy to the Soviet State."

"Like that matters to me? Soon, you'll be pumped full of all sorts of drugs and be singing like a little birdy at Central. It's just the two of us in here, no bugs or cameras to record anything you say…"

"You just want me to admit to being a Russian spy who is sending information to the Motherland against the US. You want to seek revenge for the German Government that was destroyed. America was part of the Allis that crushed the Nazi party too."

"True," Harvold cracked a larger smile. "I'll get my revenge on UNCLE and the Soviet Union who divided Berlin and killed my family."

"What did UNCLE do to you?" Kuryakin asked matter-of-factly.

"Everything," Shaw waved his hand with the gun around the room in frustration. "I see the injustice of trying to save the ones who can't be saved and having to save mankind time after time without decent pay or recognition only to battle the bastards that replaced the evil bastards trying to take over the world to begin with. And, they are only evil in Waverly's mind. I feel there needs to be more order from those who control the world's power and resources and UNCLE isn't providing it. One group of people needs to be in charge and I have the family linage of pure blood to properly see it through."

"Then you're truly mad." Kuryakin gave up any hope for his superior in Section Two as he played with the ring on his left hand, not looking up. "You'll never succeed, you know that right?"

"You'll never know will you, Kuryakin." Harvold humped softly, intently watching the younger man sit on the floor at his feet. "Once we bleed you of your knowledge about the Soviet Union, the GRU, and special research projects at UNCLE, you'll be dead. Hey, I've always wonder about that ring. Did your Commie lover give you that? Did you two sleep in the same bunk on the sub while in the Russian Navy?"

"It belonged to my father." Illya said as if reliving a distant memory, pulling the ring off and began to twirl it around. "It's the only thing I have of his before he left to serve in the war."

"What happened to your old man?" Harvold asked in bland interest, trying to get a bead on the man sitting in front of him and his secret past.

"We lived in the Ukraine when war broke out." The adopted Russian honestly began to Shaw's utter surprise, listening to Kuryakin' s hypnotic voice telling his tale of woe. "My mother had died in childbirth the year before, my Gypsy grandmother taken away by her tribe, and the family we were living with had to make a choice.

"I stayed with Mutti while my father and his friend when off the fight as ordered by the Soviet Union and they were killed by the Nazis."

"So, they were spies that got caught and were shot!" the senior agent shouted out loud with joy and ultimate justice.

With the speed of a pit viper, Kuryakin snaked his hand around the Shaw's wrist with the gun in it and pulled the seated agent out of the chair. A shot rang out as Kuryakin twisted the shocked agent's arm behind his back and jumped on him, locking Harvold's arms under his legs.

Before Shaw could move while he tried to keep a grip on his pistol, a thin, razor sharp cord was tightened around his neck. Instantly, Shaw dropped his gun as he attempted to free his arms enough to claw at his throat. Fear filled Harvold's thoughts, wondering how the little Commie shit had gotten the upper hand. Illya was right; he didn't have to worry about making weight as the man's muscular knees and body were crushing down on him and making it hard to breathe.

"You seemed to have loss for words, Harvold." Illya's a hushed, hard, raspy voice said. "I want to finish telling you my story before you run out of air.

"Yes, my father and his friend did die at the hands of the Nazis for spying." Shaw grunting as the constant pressure from the metal wire prevented him from talking. "The ring, as you now know is a garrote and a key to a safe back in the Ukraine.

"Now, when you talk about having the superior lineage for ruling the world, I beg to differ. I have noble blood in me." The younger agent continued on with slightly more pressure around Shaw's neck. "The same year my father dies, Mutti, her child, and I were sent to a concentration camp. Because of her skills as a chemist, we all were ordered to make morphine for the German Army. I was almost given to a German family due to my blond hair and blue eyes and would have if I hadn't given them concerns that I would seek revenge any chance I would get. The fools thought I was significantly younger than my true age."

Shaw's face was turning red from lack of oxygen and eyes were becoming glassy with tears.

"Yes, Harvold, you may feel that you are superior to me, but I have been trained since birth to be an assassin and scientist." Shaw could almost feel the evil grin on the Russian's face by his neck that sent a shiver down his back. "I can easily kill you with just a little tug of this wire."

Shaw's eyes widened and the pressure increased again and even more air failed to pass his lips. "You see, the retirement plan for THRUSH is inclusive and not always by their hands. You stupidly thought you could beat me in the gym when I let your arrogance run high and now I must take care of an enemy of UNCLE and the world. Good bye and good riddance, Mr. Shaw…."

Illya put just enough pressure on the grot to make Shaw pass out. "…for now. I believe that Mr. Waverly will want to talk to you, Knox, Meyer, and Dr. Rathhaus first."

"Chyort, that hurts!" Illya complained as he rolled off the passed out UNCLE agent and onto the floor, wrapping his arm around his chest before trying to sit up again, his eyes getting blurry for a moment. Running his free hand through his disheveled hair, Illya felt something wet and moist. Looking at this hand, he realized it was blood.

"Wow!" Illya whistled to himself, not realizing how close it had been for him and then nervously giggled in relief. It was mostly a scratch and he didn't even know he'd been hit by Shaw's shot.

Awkwardly getting up off the floor with the use of the chair Shaw was sitting in; Illya grabbed the dropped gun, tied up the fallen agent with an electrical cord, and dragged the fallen agent into a closet before he searched the room for the items Harvold had removed from him when he was unconscious, but didn't find anything.

Concerned that others may have heard the single gunshot, Kuryakin checks the door before leaving the room and steps into the hallway. Hearing the sound of foot falls coming his way, Illya turns the opposite direction and turns down the next corner.

With great stealth, the UNCLE agent remained out of the sight of his pursuers. This cat and mouse game gave the UNCLE agent enough time to find a phone and call headquarters for reinforcements. Illya knew that he wasn't out of the clear, but thought that he might be fairly treated by most of the Section Two agents. It was Mr. Waverly to decide if he still had a career at UNCLE and if the rest of headquarters' staff would believe he was innocent.

While staying clear of the small THRUSH security force trying to find the wayward prisoner and Shaw, Illya was surprised from the conversations he overheard, that his pursuers didn't even check the locked closet he'd left the unconscious man in. Counting the minutes it should take for Napoleon and the strike force to come and overtake this little satrap, Kuryakin found his way down to the lab in the back of the building.

Curiosity to what was being made in this hidden THRUSH lair makes the part-time scientist ignore the constant pain from his cracked ribs and the more noticeable wheezing in his chest as he cautiously opened the lab door. Inside the cramped room filed with glass jars and scientific machines, Illya looks around the empty room with his gun at hip level.

"Merde," Illya cursed to himself with jealousy. "I wish my lab had all this stuff. This rivals…."

"Rivals whose..?" A voice rang out from behind the door with a metal rod slashing through air and landing smartly on Kuryakin's wrist with enough force to break it and drop the gun.

Before Illya could cry out in pain, the swift doctor attack the Section Two agent with a syringe filled with an unknown substance.

"Rathhaus, warum," Illya softly asks in confusion as his body being to droop and eyes become even more unfocused.

"You ask why, Kuryakin," the UNCLE Doctor blustered as he watched the younger agent sink to the floor cradling his broken wrist. "Your kind raped and killed my only sister during the war and you're going to personally pay for it. Now, tell me where did you hide Herr Shaw."

"He is where I put him." The blond man mumbles with a silly grin as the pain that made Kuryakin able to concentrate began to ebb back and forth while remembering a phrase of Shakespeare's Hamlet. "UNCLE is on their way."

"Yes, I know, but I wanted to find you first and what better way than to appeal to your scientific side. Once the alarms went off, I knew that you'd gotten away from Shaw and I took my chance to get to you before I had to give you THRUSH. I want you to help me with my formulas first."

"Formulas," Illya wondered in confusion, trying to stall for time, still waiting for Solo to find him.

"The notes you scribbled all over that formula for UNCLE's new mercy bullets was correct and I can't have you being better than me. I've had enough trouble trying to keep Thompson in line." The doctor continued on with his tirade. "I've been playing with another formula that should get you to cooperate with me for a while longer and that is what I shot into your neck. How are you feeling?"

"Dizzy and nauseous," Kuryakin blurted out as his first attempt to get up from the floor failed miserably. Not only was his head threatening to spin off his shoulders, the pain from his cracked ribs and broken wrist intensified and kept beat with his racing heart. Spots moved in rhythmic circles in front of his eyes, making it hard to see clearly.

"That will wear off shortly, except for the increased sensitivity to pain." Rathhaus proudly stated as he grabbed the unsteady man's arm and yanked Kuryakin to his feet. "Now I think it's time to get you and I out of here, before a whole bunch of UNCLE agents find us. I'd take Mr. Shaw with us, but I think he can fend for himself once he's found. Another thing to blame you for…"

Rathhaus roughly pushed the weakened Section Two agent in a wheelchair that the good doctor had placed in the room for emergencies. It took the mad scientist a few moments to subdue the struggling blond and secure his legs and arms with handcuffs to the chair. The last victory was hearing Kuryakin cry out in pain when Rathhaus snap the metal strap tightly around his fractured wrist.

Illya dropped his head and closed his eyes to close out the glowing lights and waves of pain that washed over his body as his strength waned. Kuryakin knew his was being lead out the back door of the room and away from his hope for rescue for now.

"You won't get away with this doctor," the dazed man slurred out and pulled on his bonds, making it hard for his captor to steer the wheelchair, threatening for it to flip over.

"Stop it, you little prick!" Rathhaus tried to hush the struggling Russian, grabbing his throat tightly to make his point. "You'll just make it harder on yourself and the more you move around, the more pain you'll experience. Now shut up or I'll tape your mouth shut!"

"Napoleon!"

The angry doctor shot out and back handed Kuryakin across face hard enough to topple the wheelchair over, breaking one of the arm rest. Despite the excruciating pain radiating from every part of his body, Illya lashed out with his freed arm and grabbed Rathhaus, jerking him over and down on the broken metal pieces,

"Oomph! Damn! Why you…fuck…let me go!" the angry doctor fought to get away from the determined man to escape his bonds. "You should be reviving in pain, not fighting back."

"I'm giving you a taste of your own medicine without the shot!" Kuryakin harshly shouted though clinched lips, his eyes red with pain, and his breathing haggard while he held onto the doctor for dear life.

Struggling to get away from Kuryakin' s grip, Rathhaus's swaying left hand felt the broken arm rail within grasp of his fingers if he could reach out a little more. With a big shove, Rathhaus grabbed the padded pipe and brought it up to swing it at Kuryakin's head.

"Hold it right there, Dr. Rathhaus!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Both men wrestling around on the floor froze at Solo's barked order; Dr. Rathhaus on top of Kuryakin with his arm raised ready to strike the blond man. Napoleon had arrived in the second wave of UNCLE agents to storm the hidden THRUSH satrap. He'd heard that a distress call had come in and was immediately on his way.

The Senior Section Two agent decided to take a different direction than the others. He had a strong hunch that Illya would be this way, close to the labs of course. Napoleon was surprised how well he did actually know his stoic cohort.

Looking down at the pair past his gun, Solo noticed the mangled arm of the wheelchair skewed on its side with Kuryakin still attached to it. Slowly, Rathhaus lowered his weapon and started to pull away from Kuryakin's release. Illya for his part leaned back with a huge sigh of relief and fell back into the lopsided seat. The pain from his wounds still radiated throughout his body, but he knew that his partner was finally there to help.

"Good, you're here Solo," Dr. Rathhaus grunted as he straightened his lab coat, dropped the arm rail, and put a hand in his pocket. "I came across Kuryakin here trying to escape, got the upper hand long enough to try and subdue him, but as you can see, he's still trying to get away. Help me get him upright and I'll take him to Medical…"

"What's wrong with him?" Napoleon asked; nagging uncertainties still plagued him about if his partner was truly trying became an agent for THRUSH or not. He put his gun away and assisted the UNCLE Doctor in lifting the chair back on its wheels. "How did you subdue him?"

"I hit his gun hand with a metal rod," Rathhaus said as he lifted Illya's head back by pushing his chin up to look into the Russian's eyes. Kuryakin let out a painful groan at the intrusion of light from overhead. "I may have broken his wrist in the process and then gave him a sedative before he could get off the lab floor."

"So how did Illya escape and end up here in the hallway?" Napoleon stared at his partner, knowing he had more wrong with him than just a fractured wrist with an obvious wheeze with every breath he took and dried blood matted in his hair.

"I must have not given him enough, because when I got back from looking from another UNCLE agent to help me, he was gone, chair and all." The medical man pulled a syringe out of his lab coat and pops the cap. "Let me give him this and take him back to headquarters. I'll have Allen do a full assessment and call you with his results while you try to help find Shaw."

"Yes, doctor," Napoleon acquiesced with a nod and watched the man tap the air out of the fluid in the barrel of the injection.

With great effort, Illya shot out his broken hand to grab at the concerned agent. Napoleon looked down in surprise and then grimaced when the Russian's bones scraped against one another. Solo leaned over his partner to listen to what he trying to say.

Illya garbled out words through his fat lip given to him by Rathhaus. Napoleon had to strain to hear what he was say and then looked up at the physician.

"What?" The concerned doctor stopped in mid action with syringe in hand. "What did Kuryakin say?"

"He told me in Italian that I'm late, he had to wait yet again for me to show up, and he stalled you long enough while calling me an ungrateful shit."

Napoleon critically eyed the doctor for his reaction as the older scientist looked from Solo to Kuryakin who released his partner's wrist and crumpled back into the wheelchair with a strained huff of air. Rathhaus mouth dropped open in shock to unexpected response.

"I don't understand…" Rathhaus stumbled over the words. "Obviously Kuryakin is confused and in pain. Let me give him this shot to help him relax and take him back to Medical…"

Napoleon was in a quandary. Did he believe the doctor standing over his partner, telling him that Illya was a mole or should he buck all the evidence and challenge the physician right there and now? With all the UNCLE agents running around this hidden satrap, Solo didn't think it would hurt to let the doctor take Illya back to headquarter as long as he went with.

"Yes, doctor," Napoleon grabbed the handles of the wheelchair to push it. "I think you're right. We'll both take Mr. Kuryakin to Medical and then to detention so he can be properly interview, but let's lose the sedative. I'll keep the wayward man in check."

"I would appreciate the help." Rathhaus nodded, recapped the syringe, and gestured for Solo to precede him out to the back hallway.

"Mr. Solo!"

Napoleon stopped and turned to the voice shouting out his name from behind him and Rathhaus.

It was Section Three agent whom came up to Solo. "Sir, you needed up front. I think they found Mr. Shaw. He was locked in a utility closet; bound and gag with markings of a garrot used around his neck."

Torn between staying with his partner and assisting in participating in the invasion of the hidden hideout, Napoleon had to make a choice. "Go with Dr. Rathhaus and Mr. Kuryakin to headquarters. Don't leave Kuryakin's side until I can get there."

"Yes, sir," The young man nodded and switch places with Solo at the helm of pushing the wheelchair. "The lead group is on the second floor, west wing."

"Got it," Napoleon nodded and started to pull out his communicator from his breast pocket. "I'll call Mr. Waverly to inform him that you're coming, Mr. Knox or Mr. Cox…Which one are you?"

"Cox, sir, Bill Cox, Section three." The non-descript man nodded as he grabbed the handles of the wheelchair to take off.

"Mr. Cox, you and Dr. Rathhaus go on to headquarters and I'll be there shortly." Solo ordered as Illya started to stir.

"You can count on us, Napoleon." The doctor slightly grinned; patted Kuryakin's raised good hand and then guided it back down back to the agent's side.

"Good," Napoleon said after a hesitated look back at his partner and then started to walk in the general direction of the elevators, all the while; alarms were going off in his head. Something wasn't quite right, but he didn't know if it was his feelings of betrayal from Illya or that Cox wasn't quite as familiar to him as he should be. Solo made a promise to himself that he needed to get to know the newer Section Three agents better.

MFU/MFU

Dr. Rathhaus let out a pent up sigh of relief when he could no longer hear Solo's foot steps down the corridor. Casually he turned his head to look back to see if the senior agent was out of sight.

"Is he gone?" Agent Knox softly asked under his breath to the physician. "I was hoping he didn't remember me. I know he's heard my name, but couldn't properly place my face."

"It won't last for long." The doctor quipped. "The wheels were turning in Solo's head to place you. Smart move to say you were Bill Cox."

"Bob Knox, Bill Cox." The young man shrugged with a smirk as he gave the wheelchair a powerful shove forward. "We're so similar that many people at headquarters have a tough time telling us apart. We have the same hair, same eye color, hell, even same height and weight. We just have different points of view of the future and who will rule the world. Only Kuryakin can regularly tell us a part from a far. Hey, what did you give Red here, he seems more subdued than I'm seen him before."

"Well, I gave him the next dose of my treatment protocol." Rathhaus brazenly said, making a show of pocketing the syringe in his lab coat. "This one gives the test subject the inability to react quickly to stimuli. Kuryakin can still feel the pain of his injuries, but can't coordinate his muscles. I just had to give a high enough dose to kill a wily Russian horse."

"Well now we've got our Commie UNCLE agent, lead the way to THRUSH my good man. The ambulance is waiting."

"No, I have other plans for the moment. First we go to small clinic my friend runs in the village. Now it's up to Shaw to talk his way out of UNCLE and meet us at Central later on once I have my crack at what makes this heathen tick."

MFU/MFU

Napoleon Solo finished his report to Mr. Waverly and stuffed his communicator back into his jacket while trotting doing the hall to the west wing of the building. Ahead of him was the CEA Jefferies talking to a group of Section Two and Three agents.

"Sir, I've found Kuryakin." Solo announced quickly as his ragged breath would allow. "Well, Dr. Rathhaus found him first in the lab and I found them in the back of the building."

"Great the hear that." Jefferies nodded and began to relay the information to the rest of the invasion team members. "Where is he now?"

"Dr. Rathhaus and Bill Cox are taking him back to UNCLE headquarters' Medical depart…"

"Dr. Rathhaus and who," Jefferies head shot up to stare at a man across from him.

"Mr. Cox…" Napoleon stammered as he followed where his immediate superior was looking. Correction, to who Jefferies was looking at. It was Bill Cox, at least to Napoleon it could have been Bill Cox or Bob Knox.

"Yes, Mr. Solo." The Section Three agent tilted his head to the left in confusion and then a thought flashed in his eyes. "Do you mean my coworker and unrelated twin, Bob Knox? Hey, where is he anyway? I know he took off to search the labs."

"Damn, Knox and Rathhaus must be working with Meyer! Illya was trying to tell me and I left him with them. We have to get to the back of the building!" Napoleon shouted as he turned back to the elevators, pulled out his gun, and started to run at top speed. "Rathhaus and Knox have Kuryakin and taking him to Central."

"Oh, holy shit!" Jefferies cursed, turned to the rest of the men, and started to shout orders before he followed after Solo. "Get Shaw under surveillance while he's in Medical. We'll figure all this out there."

MFU/MFU

Solo and Jefferies were running full bore toward the ambulance sitting in the back parking lot with guns drawn. Each one, taking a secured position around the medical van as they inched around toward the back doors, "Give it up Rathhaus! Knox! You're surrounded!"

When there was no immediate response, Jefferies nodded to Solo and they both rushed to grab the handles and ripped the doors open.

"Gentlemen, nice of you to drop in," Mr. Waverly's thundering voice stopped both agents from pulling the triggers on their guns. Quickly their weapons were holstered.

"Mr. Waverly," Jefferies acknowledged the Section One leader and the gun he was pointed at the two criminals.

Napoleon noticed Rathhaus and Knox were in cuffs, sitting on one side of the ambulance and a shock of blond hair poking through a blanket lying on a gurney on the opposite side with the boss man and Jefferies's partner. One thing that was obvious to the situation was the shiner Dr. Rathhaus had along with the disgruntled look he was giving Waverly.

"I will be escorting these men to headquarters personally." The man in the plaid fedora and tweed sports jacket stated his intentions plainly. "I want you two to make sure Mr. Shaw is looked after and placed in Medical detention. Then we'll convene for a debriefing after the players in the betrayal affair are deemed physically ready to face justice."

"Yes, sir," Napoleon bowed his head after he gave his partner another concerned look, but didn't say anything. His heart sank to realize that he shouldn't have questioned his partner's loyalties no matter what the evidence.

"Now, close the doors and tell the driver we're ready to go."

"Sir," Jefferies bobbed his head and pulled the doors shut as Solo rapped the side of the vehicle to signal to the driver to go.

"Well this can't end well."

MFU/MFU

Napoleon Solo slowly paced in front of the door leading to his partner's assigned room in Medical. He and the CEA Jefferies did as they were ordered; got Shaw under custody, delivered him to Medical to check the damage Illya's garrot had done to his neck and airway, inspected the hidden satrap for other nasty surprises planned for UNCLE, and finally, search for any drugs, poisons, and antidotes in the making.

The young senior Section Two agent was dreading the moment he'd have to confront his friend about his loyalty to UNCLE and him. Napoleon felt ashamed that he didn't feel he knew Illya well enough to understand the difference until now. Most people around headquarters were still on the fence of who was really the mole, because the raucous sputtering Dr. Rathhaus was still making about being set up by the newer resident Russian.

"Napoleon," A dampened yell in English came through the door. "Get your ass in here before I come out there and drag you in."

With a drooped shoulders, hands in his pockets, and a weak smile; Solo trudged into the hospital room. After walking through the door, Napoleon notices the pale and tired man lying in the hospital bed. A bruised face, a cast that runs from Illya's fingers to his elbow, the whirl of a suction machine with its tube that ran to his bandaged chest, and finally the constant bubbling of the humidifier attached to the oxygen rope wrapped around his face. At least the blood was washed out of hair and lip was only slightly swollen.

What was unusual, were the handcuffs that circled Illya's good wrist and the bed rail.

"When you are done staring, I want to get out of here." An exhausted voice muttered. "They won't leave me alone here. Even a detention cell is more peaceful…and safer"

"You, Mr. Kuryakin, are not going anywhere any time soon," a stern voice behind Napoleon called out as he rounded the silent agent. "Good afternoon, Mr. Solo."

"Dr. Allen," Solo smirked as he caught the painful eye roll Illya gave the chief medical officer.

"Whatever," the bulldog of a man humped as he continued to Kuryakin's bedside. "Trying to escape already? Shall we tell Napoleon why you need to be here? And if you think my bed side manner is bad now see what happens if I you find you trying to dislodge any tube, IV, or bandage. Now, I know that the Houdini in you can easily get out of a single pair of handcuffs even with a cast over a broken wrist, three fractured ribs, a hole in your left lung, and an unknown drug still surging through your veins. At least let Dr. Thompson see what that drug is before you sneak out of here."

Right on cue, as if it were planned, George Thompson walked into the door carrying his faithful med box filled with test tubes.

"Hey Dr. K," the awkwardly tall man lumbered in. "Mr. Solo, Dr. Allen. Here we all are again, thank goodness."

"Well, I'm not happy about being here." Illya groaned. "Come get your pint of blood, but I can't guarantee that it will be all my own George. Take Napoleon's instead. I just want to get out of this bed…"

"Don't worry," George said happily as he tied a tourniquet around the blonde's good arm, glad that Illya was back at headquarters, surly as the Russian was. He was still better than Dr. Rathhaus, who was still spouting out tails of his innocence. "I'll only take a small amount this time. That nasty drug blood levels in your body are dropping sharply, because of the new antidote I've been working on. Oh, and thank you Napoleon for bringing me Dr. Rathhaus's journals from the hidden lab. This all sounds so mysterious; like something out a spy novel."

"Not a problem, George." Napoleon said with a crooked grin at George's pun, still not taking his worried eyes off his friend. He was hoping to talk to Illya alone and apologize.

After a quick whirl of activity, everyone was gone except for the two agents, although it felt like an eternity to Napoleon. For a while, the silence was heavy and oppressive as Solo watched Illya sleep.

"Napoleon."

"What?!"

"Do you have my ring?" A hand attach to the side rail by a chain twisted palm up.

Hastily searching his clothes, Napoleon found his partner's gold band in his breast pocket and offered it to Illya before he remembered that his partner was restrained. Then, with great finesse, Illya gave Napoleon the finger. It took the startled man a second to register that it was the blond man's ring finger and not the middle. An unexpected giggle erupted from Solo with a rush of relief as place the ring on the Russian's digit.

"Illya, how can I apologize if you don't let me be serious?" Solo whined. "I should have defended you more. I shouldn't have let Shaw push my buttons and question your loyalty…"

"Napoleon, stop, I have a headache." Illya abruptly hushed the man and turned his head towards this partner for the first time and open his red tinged, blue eyes a slit. "Listen, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"I guess you do."

"If I were in your boots," Illya started after a heavy breath out. "I would've second doubts, but you kept your head about you and I can hear it in your voice that you still believe I'm innocent. I had found out that something was wrong with the paperwork from an older case and started to check it out. Before I could report my concerns to Mr. Waverly, I was offered bait by Dr. Rathhaus to go to a science conference. It was an opportunity that I felt I couldn't pass up."

"Why didn't you say anything to me?" Napoleon asked.

"Because, I thought I had more time to gather more evidence before I start accusing fellow agents and staff of treason. I was stupid enough to think I had time to spend the afternoon with a woman." Illya scrunched up his irritated eyes up in embarrassment. "I didn't take the hotel room that Rathhaus had reserved, but another one and needed to know if there was more than one mole lurking in the shadows. The cover-ups were too well done for me not to go on with their plot to blame me."

"You still could've told me." Napoleon began to understand Illya's reluctance in telling what was going on.

"I was trying to protect you and your position here at UNCLE." Illya's piercing look pinned him down. "I couldn't have you painted as a mole. Your position as Jefferies' future replacement would be in question. It was easier to make me look I was the mole. Waverly can always send me back to the Soviet Union's Navy and there, I would be painted as a hero against the western capitalistic world. You, have really nowhere else to go without being looked upon as a traitor."

Napoleon chewed on that information for a few moments. "What makes you think I'm Jefferies replacement? I've only been a senior agent for a couple of years and you've been only here in New York for a few months?"

"Napoleon," Illya grinned slightly as he closed his eyes again. "Please don't make me laugh, my head hurts too much. I was planning to tell you what was going on and ask for your help if they hadn't found me as quickly as they did. Are we still partners until Mr. Waverly decides what to do with me?"

"There was never a doubt that I would want anyone, but you for a partner." Solo chuckled at his overly smart, overly stubborn, freak of nature friend. "I have to go and talk with Jefferies and the boss man after lunch. Do you really think I'll be the next CEA?"

"Choryt, tovarish!" Illya grimaced, snapped his eyes open to glare at Solo and then turned his head away from his partner. "Isn't your ego and head big enough for now? Now shut up, go to your meeting, and get me out of here as soon as possible."

"I'll see what I can swing to get you out ASAP, but I don't think Allen will let you out with that tube in your chest." Napoleon gently touched Illya's shoulder in goodbye before he left the hospital room. "But, I will endeavor to bring you a proper meal to fill that hole in your lung and put some meat on your bones."

"I'll keep you to that promise, Nappy."

Solo turned back in shock at the same nickname Jeffries had given him, but thought better than to respond. When his partner appeared to be finally sleeping, Napoleon spun back around and walked out the door knowing now things were righted with his friend.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

With a whoosh of the pneumatic doors, Napoleon Solo walked into Waverly's office to find the boss patiently sitting at the top of the circular table. The other occupants were Dr. Rathhaus with a Section Three agent on each side of him, Dr. Thompson, Dr. Allen and his CEA Jefferies.

Not knowing what to expect, the young Section Two agent sat down in what was his usual chair when reporting to Mr. Waverly. The Section One leader was in his typical calm and calculating mode as he silently waited for Solo to sit down without even raising an eyebrow when he started the debriefing.

"Mr. Solo, you've witnessed Dr. Rathhaus give Mr. Kuryakin a medication that he stated was a sedative?"

"No sir," Napoleon shook his head. "He stated that he was the one who broke Mr. Kuryakin's wrist and attempted to subdue him with a sedative and was planning to give him another injection to make transportation to UNLCE headquarters easier. At that point, Rathhaus stated that the other injuries, Mr. Kuryakin suffered were when he resisted. When, I found the doctor and Mr. Kuryakin, they were in the back of the building we were searching. Mr. Rathhaus standing over my partner and Mr. Kuryakin was already on the floor in the broken wheelchair on its side."

"Waverly! What are you accusing me of?" An Irate physician started to stand up, but was roughly shoved back down in his seat by the agents grabbing his arms. "Where is my accuser? What evidence do you have? Solo's lying to save his communist partner's red ass!"

"Silence!" Waverly shouted over the hysterical man and everyone in the room was stunned motionless. Shock and dread filled the air as Rathhaus stopped struggling and the Section Three agents straightened up in awe of their boss's sudden outburst.

"Your treasonous fate has already been sealed doctor," Waverly calmly dismissed the man's protests. "The real Mr. Robert Knox confessed after an extensive interrogation that you and your conspirators wanted to get rid of the Soviet Union's presence in UNCLE."

"Yes, but..," the doctor stuttered, trying to determine what Waverly actually knew.

"But, what," Waverly asked, keeping a stern glare on the now sweating man. "Even if I couldn't get a full confession from Mr. Knox, doesn't mean that we haven't found incriminating evidence on our own. Here, look at this."

Waverly spun the table to bring a folder in front both Rathhaus and Solo. Napoleon opened up to the first page and was looking at a chemical formula written in pencil. The Section Two agent noticed his partner's neat, chicken scratches on the side, but it wasn't the same handwriting on the main part of the formula. The next page had the same formula, but with only Illya's writing on it.

"Where did you get this?" Dr. Rathhaus asked hoarsely, looking up, surprised to see that Waverly had superimposed both on the overhead screen. Illya's writing lined up perfectly, but the formula didn't. The first page is what Napoleon had shown Illya in the detention cell that had made Kuryakin snicker.

"It was sent to me by a private currier from an anonymous source." Waverly tamped tobacco into his pipe, but continued to keep a sharp eye on the older doctor. "Which one is the true copy with Mr. Kuryakin's comments in them and which one is a fake; can you tell Dr. Rathhaus, Dr. Thompson?"

"Sir," George Thompson jumped in his chair at his name. "From what I told you earlier, the second sheet is the original and you can see that the first one has a minor flaw in it that only a scientist would pick out and Ill...Mr. Kuryakin did."

"Speaking of Mr. Kuryakin, Dr. Thompson, what did you find in his blood?" Waverly asked.

"Well," the younger doctor cleared his throat, taking a quick glance at the older doctor before turning back to Waverly. "At first, things were looking as if Dr. K, I mean; Mr. Kuryakin was experiencing symptoms of what the labs had reported to you, sir. Drunk to the gills and to the point of alcohol poisoning: Dr. Rathhaus was running the samples I collected mostly. The rest, I noticed little differences that made me question if there was another allergy Mr. Kuryakin was developing rearing its nasty head, because of the skin reactions I got when I drew his blood. Not to mention several different types of human hair strands found throughout the hotel room where we initial found Mr. Kuryakin.

"Then, when Mr. Kuryakin was brought back today after his little jaunt from the detention cell, I found an interesting cocktail of unknown drugs that included a hypnotic, muscle inhibitor and anti-analgesic."

"English, George." Napoleon sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The action got a snort from Dr. Allen.

"Solo, what George is saying in that your Russian partner was given an experimental drug that loosened his thoughts, made his muscle movement uncoordinated, and let him negatively experience every ache and pain he had five times fold." Dr. Allen finished with a shake of his head in disgust and pointed his thick finger at Rathhaus. "Not only did you do this to Kuryakin once, but several times by the number of skin reactions found at the puncture sites. Coating the hypodermic needles weren't enough to do what you needed, so you quadrupled the dose when you found him in the satrap, bastard."

"If he would have just listened and laid there like he was supposed to, I wouldn't have given him so much." Rathhaus sneered, giving up all pretense of denying the charges against him. "That is all you're going to get from me."

With quickness not expected from the older physician, Rathhaus put his finger in his mouth and pushed before biting down with a crunch.

"Shit!" Allen shouted in surprise. "Get back! He's got a cyanide capsule. Damn!"

Everyone silently watched the older doctor spasm, twist off his chair, and foam at the mouth as he died. "Heil….Hit…ler."

"I think that the former Dr. Rathhaus was a bit too dramatic for his own good." Waverly drawled out as he lit his pipe and flipped a switch for cleanup. "Miss McNabb, please delay our next guest until we get the former UNCLE employee down to the morgue."

"Yes sir."

"Well gentlemen, not a good start to end our rat problem this time around, but at least we have two alive out of four and the third one has metered out his punishment for his participation in trying to usurp the command of UNCLE. Now we'll see if the last piece of this puzzle will come into place, or do we have any other pieces missing?"

With a push of a button, the doors to Waverly's inner sanctum slip open with a smooth click, and Harvold Shaw walked bolded in with two Section Three agents trailing short behind. Arrogantly, the Section Two agent sat down with a confident nod to Waverly, Jefferies, Solo, Allen, and almost insultingly laughed out loud at Thompson.

The only noticeable marks left on him from his run in with Kuryakin were the thin red lines across his neck and wrists. Shaw awkwardly cleared his throat to show some of the damage the thin wire did to his airway.

"Mr. Shaw," Waverly started like he started every debriefing: with a bland look of disinterest.

"Mr. Waverly," Shaw's voice rang out in a raspy gruff tone. "I received the general call for all agents to converge on the satrap's building and happen to be in the vicinity, so I was one of the first Section Two agents to arrive.

"I did find Kuryakin, but he jumped me and tried to strangle me as he promised revenge by having me take the blame for his misdeeds against UNCLE for the GRU and KGB. He's a secret operative working within headquarters for the Soviet Government.

"To prove this to me, he tied me up, threw me into a closet, and then took off to I don't know where." Shaw pointed to his neck as he barely spoke above a whisper.

"Why would Mr. Kuryakin want to target you, Mr. Shaw?" Waverly interlocked his fingers after planting his pipe firmly into his mouth; not really caring whether it was lit or not. Napoleon carefully watched the old man of a guard play with the Section Two agent like a cat playing with its food first before attacking it.

"Because he thinks I'm a racist, sir." Shaw stated easily with a graceful wave of his hand.

"Mr. Kuryakin thinks you're a racist? Why would that be?" A pair of bushy eyebrows rose higher on Waverly's forehead in mock surprise.

"Because my family is from Germany and my father and uncle were part of the Nazi army that destroyed his home in Kiev. Mr. Kuryakin feels that my family's past association with Axis party is a threat to him and he's out to seek revenge. Kuryakin let me in on his 'point of view' during several training sessions in the gym."

"And you, Mr. Shaw, how do you feel towards Mr. Kuryakin.?" Waverly's question caused everyone in the room to look directly at Shaw.

"When I first heard that there was to be a Soviet Union representative in UNCLE I was surprised." Shaw looked to Solo for confirmation, who nodded hesitantly. "Mr. Solo and I have had conversations about his Russian partner several times. Mr. Solo can attest to my family history of having our lives split up when Berlin and the rest of Germany was divided and then it was Korea, so of course I was nervous to have a Russian agent in New York."

"And, now that you've gotten to know Mr. Kuryakin, do you still feel nervous to have him here in New York and UNCLE headquarters?"

"I found Kuryakin rude, standoffish, and rigid in following orders, but you could say that about most Eastern European agents in my mind and that's why I tried to get to know him better, to improve my opinion of him, and I thought it was working well until…"

"Until?"

Waverly and the others were waiting for the other shoe to drop while Shaw took a drink of water, especially Napoleon. Solo knew that Illya could be, and was how, Shaw describes him and many around headquarters would say the same. But, he also knows that once the junior Section Two agent felt he could trust a person, they saw a different side of his character as well. A fiercely loyal UNCLE agent to the Command and its principles; a scientifically smart contributor in Section Eight to help save fellow agents lives; and someone with a wickedly dry humor despite to the overly polite exterior.

"Until we started this investigation and I found that he'd fooled us all, especially using Mr. Solo's and the rest of the senior Section Two signatures to falsify requests for funds, weapons, and stealing chemicals right under our noses, I thought he was a good agent." Shaw pompously straightened his back like a proud rooster strutting around the barnyard.

"Do you have this evidence with you, Mr. Shaw," Waverly softly asked as he lit a match, leaned back casually in his chair, and chewed on this pipe.

"Sir, I already gave it to Mr. Jefferies." Shaw leaned back confidently as well.

"Yes, sir," The current CEA spoke for the first time. "It's all in my report to you before Mr. Kuryakin left our detention area and we've haven't had another meeting since then."

Suddenly, the doors to Waverly's inner office opened up to reveal a single occupant standing on the other side. His blond hair shone brightly against the black suit jacket. Napoleon hid his surprise at seeing Illya hesitate only for a brief second before heading into the room.

Solo glanced around the room to see the muted reactions of Waverly and Allen. Napoleon feared for his partner's life when he caught the glint of anger in the medical doctor's eye, but no emotion showed on his face. Both Jefferies and Thompson decided to stare at the table than to comment or reveal the tension they felt in the room.

For Waverly's part, his piercing eyes trailed the Medical bed runaway as Illya made his way to stand before the boss with folders in his hand. Napoleon finally casted a look to Shaw, whose shock and anger was quickly hidden away as Kuryakin finally made it to the circular desk and passed out a report to each member before sitting down next to his partner.

Napoleon took a good look at Kuryakin as he sat down. The cast was gone, his pale and bruised face he just saw over a half an hour ago now had more natural color in it, but Illya couldn't hide the thin sheen of sweat by his hairline. Although he wasn't showing any outward signs, Solo knew his partner was hurting. To keep his voice and breathing under control, the Russian was taking quick short breaths that only Solo could hear.

"Mr. Kuryakin, it was good of you to join us." Waverly ended the silence in the room and set his gaze on the pages of paper before him. "What do you have to say in your defense, young man?"

"Sir," the slim man said calmly as he put on his dark rimmed glasses and looked around the room, sucking in his lower lip to hide how swollen it was. "Four days ago, I found some surprising information while I was rechecking a fact from a previous case and an odd request for funds caught my interest, because it had my signature on it, but I remembered that was a day when you sent Mr. Solo and me emergently to Geneva to deal with THRUSH. I was already on the plane when the request was time stamped.

"I then proceeded to check other time logs on different affairs and realized that my signature or other Section Two agents request were in my handwriting littered several cases I was not directly involved with. The first page is the list of requests for supplies, weapons, and funds in my name that are fictional."

"Mr. Kuryakin, this is the same list I have." CEA Jefferies said after he perused the items on the page. "How do we know that you didn't have this list already?"

"You don't," Kuryakin agreed easily and continued on after a nod from Waverly. "I was going to report these finding to Mr. Jefferies and you, Mr. Waverly, but I was offered a seat at a scientific conference at New York University by Dr. Rathhaus out of the blue. I had a hunch that someone had observed my activities and I thought that I needed to follow through to see who else could possibly be involved."

"You went, Mr. Kuryakin, without backup?" Waverly grunted. "Why not involve your partner in your plans? It gives the appearance of being a mole."

Napoleon looked to his partner who was grinding his teeth tightly together to hold his tongue in. Shaw was smirking as Illya took a bigger breath in before continuing.

"Mr. Solo had not checked in yet that morning and I felt it would be more prudent to get to the hotel before I was planning to call Mr. Solo, but I didn't get that far. "

"You took your sweet time to call your senior partner by the way the hotel room was left." Jefferies rudely interrupted. "The condition of the sheets, the red and blond hairs, your drunkenness, and vital research paper from UNCLE headquarters thrown all over the room. Why should we believe any of this was a set up?"

"It's true," Illya grimaced, guilty of not taking the position he was in as serious as he should have at first. "I did have a lady friend visit me, because I thought I was safe in another room than the one I was given by Dr. Rathhaus to use. She'd been gone only ten minutes when I started to get woozy. I don't remember anything after I took the one shot of vodka that afternoon."

"Can she confirm your story up until that point, Mr. Kuryakin?" Mr. Waverly asked, looking at the next sheet of his blond agent's report when his brows went up in surprise.

"Yes sir, I put her name and number only on your report to keep her identity as secret as possible. I don't want her to be connected with me. It was a short seduction to satisfy certain needs after a rather long dry spell…

Waverly curtly clears his throat, placed his pipe down, and flipped a switch, "Yes, I understand. Miss McNabb, please bring me the outside phone line records."

Heather McNabb walked in with several sheets of paper and passes out one to each person at the table, nodded to her boss, and left the room.

"What you see here, gentlemen is the one of the missing links to this mole affair." Waverly pushed a few buttons to match the coding of a particular phone call four days ago left with the operator.

Waverly clicked on the recording to let it be heard throughout the room. A rather gruff and slightly incoherent person spoke three words in Russian before the receiver on the phone was sloppily placed back on the receiver.

"Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly looked around the stunned room, settling his gaze finally on Shaw. "Would you please translate for us all if you please?"

"Sir, if I heard the words correctly with my limited knowledge of Russian; they were uncle, bird, and partner. Mr. Kuryakin did make several hand signals as he was leaving in a car with the lady I'd met in the hotel hallway and others from the diner; one two, two threes, and then a five and another three."

"Mr. Kuryakin, do you remember calling?" Allen asked.

"No…sir," Illya confirmed with a lift of his chin; Napoleon could see his friend paling under the makeup. "But when I found out who was involved, I tried to tell Mr. Solo when I saw him in the street coming toward the diner, but I couldn't call out to Mr. Solo or I would have a chance to find out who was working with Dr. Rathhaus."

"Mr. Shaw," Mr. Waverly continued to look directly at Harvold Shaw as two Section Three agents stepped forward to stand by the smirking Section Two agent. "You have been found out to be a mole for THRUSH with connection with Robert Knox who has confessed his crimes along with the late Dr. Rathhaus and Mr. Meyer."

"You'll never get me to admit to anything old man," snarled Shaw, slowly rising from his chair and pointing across the table. "That Russian scum sitting right over there will destroy UNCLE faster than THRUSH ever will. He spies for the Soviet Union, GRU, and KGB. His family blood line is of poor quality and stinks up the room whereas my family and country will rule this world in the near future. Do what you will with me, but you won't stop what is coming."

"You are wrong, Mr. Shaw." Waverly stood up with a stern glare that could shake the hardest of enemy's resolve. "I've tracked down what was stolen and I know that THRUSH, or anyone else, will not get what you've tried to steal. Mr. Shaw, you are here by condemned to death by your subversive actions against the members of UNCLE, its command, and charter. Take him away to await his fate with Mr. Knox."

With the wave of Mr. Waverly's hand, the two Section Three security guards jerked Shaw's arms back behind him and pulled the struggling man out the doors. "Mark my words, Waverly, UNCLE is at an end!"

The silence in the Section One's office was deafening after the doors slid shut on the ranting man's threats filtering around the room. Each person in the room lost in their own thoughts.

"Hummm..," Waverly mumbled as he tamped the burnt tobacco out of his pipe. "That was entertaining. Miss McNabb can you come in here again and bring you tablet."

"Yes, sir."

"Gentlemen, what we need to do is figure out if this affair is truly over." The older man looked over to his agents with his gaze, finally settling on Illya. "Mr. Kuryakin has only been here in New York a few months during a time of high tension with the Soviet Union and yet he was willing put his life and job on the line to save UNCLE from a coup. Although I don't agree in the methods used and the lack of asking for help, the results were successful."

"Unfortunately," Dr. Allen continued on when Waverly paused, adding his stern glare to the boss' on the blonde's head. "Most staff here believes that Mr. Kuryakin is still the mole and traitor. It will take an extreme measure of support from all sections here and across all headquarters around the world."

"Then it's settled."

Waverly nodded at his secretary as she walked in the room pushing a wheelchair with her tablet on the seat. She purposely stopped by the disgusted Russian, who refused to acknowledge the lady or the chair. Grabbing her notebook, she stood next to her boss and waited patiently.

"Miss McNabb, I want you send a memo to all departments here at our New York office and headquarters throughout both hemispheres." Waverly stopped long enough to open the lid to his humidor, find it empty and close it again with a tired roll of his eyes.

"Sir, I have more in my office." Heather spoke up quickly to avoid more of his wrath. "You've been smoking up a storm lately."

All the agents and doctors in the room head's snapped up to the secretary's glib response. Waverly's eyes just widened slightly as his eyebrows rose to his hairline. A quirky smile quickly crossed the old man's lips: that was gone in a blink of an eye.

"Yes, Miss McNabb, I've been smoking a bit too much lately, but let's not talk about that in front of the good doctor.

"Now, back to the memo, I would like to announce that Mr. Kuryakin has now achieved senior agent level in Section Two here in the New York headquarters. I want it known that he, with the approval of this Section head, played the key role of a mole to lure the real culprits out and they are now in custody. We, and all the staff members here at headquarters, want to thank him and will congratulate him personally. Please send this out as you seem fit."

"Yes, sir," McNabb smiled as she snuck a quick peek at Illya's stunned pale face. "I'm allowed to order a cake for the occation?"

Napoleon chuckled along with the rest of the group. He knew his stoic partner loved cake, but not the part of being the center of attention. It was a great honor to advance so quickly in Section Two and Illya deserved it.

"No cake for the young man yet," Dr. Allen boomed as he placed his hands on the table and levered his burly upper body up on his short legs. "You were told to stay in bed, Mr. Kuryakin, and I will keep you there even longer. And, for extra punishment, I'm putting Dr. Thompson here in charge of keeping you in bed."

"Me, sir?" George, sitting up straighter on the other side of Napoleon, quipped while looking at Solo. "I thought that Napoleon would be there…"

"George," Jefferies said with an artificially sweet voice while looking at his watch. "I do believe that this is the longest time I've ever heard you say nothing."

"Well…I…here with all of the heads of," the younger doctor stammered as he looked for help from Napoleon who chuckled and patted the embarrassed scientist roughly on the back.

"He's just joking, George." Napoleon reassured the physician. "I'm sure you'll find ample things to discuss with Illya. Some mumbo jumbo scientific journal keeps my partner fascinated for hours."

"You, Mr. Solo will work with Mr. Kuryakin and Miss McNabb to write up this affair to file away." Waverly said finally to end the meeting. "Mr. Jefferies will work on damage control and help work on the relations between those who still might believe Mr. Kuryakin is not loyal to the Command and protect him from more physical interactions. I know that we can't squelch all misconceptions, but we can try to limit them until Mr. Kuryakin's true nature can shine through the bigotry."

"Yes sir." Jefferies nodded. "It may take some time to get some of the other agents on board. Misters Shaw, Meyers, and Knox were well established and popular in their departments. Rathhaus had made his true feelings known to a lot of people, so there's not a lot love lost in his death."

"Mr. Solo will help you once he's done staying in Medical with his partner." Waverly looked at Illya and started to shake his finger. "You need protection until that memo is distributed. Now off with you, Mr. Kuryakin. It was a bold move to show up here and the next time you decide to go against medical advice, have Miss McNabb do your makeup better, it's starting to melt. Now, off with you to Medical. I'm sure Dr. Allen will want to personally check what tube or IV site you've destroyed getting here."

"I told you I thought you put too much on." Illya grumbled quietly to Heather, who had come over to stand by him and place a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Hush, it worked," the lady said in a loud stage whisper. "Some senior Section Two spy you are; giving up your conspirators so easily."

"Enough," Dr. Allen sighed dramatically. "Get in that chair Kuryakin or its lime Jell-O for the next three days."

"I'm fine and can walk," Illya said in a stiff voice. Napoleon felt Illya's stubbornness build up in his partner and sat back for the war that was about to come. He noticed beads of sweat swirled with flesh tone foundation threatening to drip from his hairline. Illya's breathing was becoming more erratic. "What do you mean three days?"

"That's my punishment for you." The older doctor evilly smiled at the distress the Russian agent was in. The chief medical officer knew the younger man hated to spend time in Medical and he was warned; Napoleon had heard it. "Now, you can make it three days or you can make it longer by thinking you're going to walk back to your suite at the Ritz Carlton.

"I second that order, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly quickly jumped in when Illya opened his mouth to respond and then snapped it shut. "I give Allen full discretion in using restraints as needed."

"Time to go partner," Napoleon sighed for his friend's defeat posture and placed his hand on the opposite shoulder Heather's hand was still placed. "Let me help…"

"No," the word came out in a deadly growl. "I can do this myself. Let go of my shoulders…please."

Both Napoleon and Heather jerked their hands up as if they were stopping traffic. Solo was surprised that he and Heather were able to touch his shoulders as long as they did. Illya was very stand-offish when the spotlight was on him in front of others, including the ones who desired the Russian's attentions.

Napoleon watched as the newly appointed senior agent slowly stood up with only a hint of a waver to the right as he kept a steady gaze with Dr. Allen. Illya took his time to straighten his jacket and run his finger through his hair before grabbing the far armrest of the wheelchair and eased himself down.

"I guess that's my cue." George Thompson stood up and grabbed the handles of the spy's chariot to Medical. "Hold on Dr. K, we'll be there in no time."

"Don't rush on my account." Illya grunted in pain from George spinning the wheelchair away from the table.

"George, take Kuryakin to the procedure room first." Allen dropped his intense stare to point it at Waverly. "I'll be there shortly after I lecture Mr. Waverly on his smoking. Everyone is dismissed."

"Dr. Allen," Waverly met his glare with one of his own. "This is my office. I'm the one who will dismiss the staff. You're all dismissed."

No one in that conference room had to be told twice to leave Dr. Allen and Waverly alone. Everyone bolted to the doors with Jefferies and McNabb going back to the communications office and the rest walking towards Medical.

Napoleon grinned at his cohort's theatrics of having a death grip on the arm rests and his eye squeezed shut while George babbled on; knowing he was heading to at least three days of drudgery and dealing with being in a hospital bed. Then, Solo thought about it. He and Illya weren't going to be alone, enjoying some peace and quiet, but with George Thompson. Talking, breathing, and eating Science. That's when Napoleon stopped, groaned, and wondered why he was being punished as well.

When he realized he was being left behind, Solo jogged to catch up and to hear Illya say in a hushed voice under his breath in French to his partner when Thompson took a gulp of air in between words. "Now you are going have to suffer along with me. Hurry up and don't leave me alone."

"Oui."

MFU/MFU

Illya opened the door to an apartment he'd just received an address to from the answering service his special friend used to contact him. It had been over a month since he saw her last. It was the morning he had her give him the antidote of the drug Dr. Rathhaus had developed.

Walking into the kitchen, it didn't take him long to find the glasses and premium bottle of vodka in the freezer. Taking out the bottle and moving to the bedroom, he heard the shower running through an open door.

With a knowing smile, Illya started to disrobe as he entered the steam filled bathroom. With a side swipe of the curtain, the blond Adonis stepped in and wrapped his arms around the person standing under the streaming shower head. A few fingerprint bruises peppered her arms and neck. Alexana snuggled into the Russian's embrace.

"I had a feeling you would come tonight. I've been in here for almost half an hour waiting for you. I'm a prune."

"You are not, Lexi." Illya laughed lightly as he took a deep breath in of her newly washed hair, reaching for the bar of soap. "You're still a little dirty and have to be cleaned."

"Well, you don't smell like a bed of roses and need a good scrubbing once you let go of me." The now raven colored hair beauty gruffly said, but didn't move from his embrace as he soaped her front. "Has Napoleon figured us out yet?"

"No, I think he was going to ask me about our time in hotel room, but put it off as a one night stand like he has, but I think that Waverly knows something is going on."

"Of course he knows." Lexi turned around to face him, gently rubbing his shoulders and neck. "Father made sure Waverly knew we're getting together when we shouldn't be and the General wants to keep us separated. What Waverly just doesn't know how often I'm in New York and we that see each other as lovers instead of just cousins, but I think he's smart enough to figure it out real soon if he hasn't figured it out all ready. He's agreed to keep us apart by assigning you all over the world with Solo as Father keeps me busy as well."

"I will always find time for you." Illya promised, drawing Lexi in closer into a bear hug and lifting her off the shower floor. "And the next time you fake my voice, dial the voice synthesizer down a few more notches. It sounded like I have my balls in a vise."

"Well, someone had to keep you on the straight and narrow." Lexi groused as Illya released her from his tight squeeze, but still held her. "When I saw the group of people pass me in the hall at the elevators, I knew that they were up to no good and had to find a way to warn Napoleon. I know that we're not got get involved with each other's work, so I just put a bug in Waverly's ear, so to speak."

"You did the right thing Lexi," Illya nodded softly into his lover's shoulder. "I had to give Waverly your name as to who I had in the room that day. So, yes, now he most definitely knows that we are seeing each other here in New York and are now officially more than cousins. He has the next move if he chooses."

With the thought of their unknown future, Illya engulfed her mouth with his, tasting her sweet lips while dropping the soap and pushing them under the spray of water.


End file.
